Ink Sweat & Tears is a UK based webzine which publishes and reviews poetry, prose, prose-poetry, word & image pieces and everything in between. Our tastes are eclectic and magpie-like and we aim to publish something new every day.

We try to keep waiting-time short, but because of increased submissions, the current waiting time between submission and publication is around twelve weeks.

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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Paul Case

    Bridges They push forward, vibrating in their ecstatic skirmish, voices unified over gang choruses, clenched fists raised toward the ceiling. They might glimpse us, on the cusp stage lights’ sweep, hidden like old toys. We’ll be softly nodding our heads to the beat, plastic pints dribbling foam down our hands, already dreading tomorrow’s hangover.  Maybe later we’ll build a bridge, fashioned from powders and wreathes of cigarette smoke; bolstered by shots and chats that go nowhere. But it’ll crumble under the light, and our futures will fork like a wishbone. Paul Case is an Edinburgh-based writer and spoken word performer. He has performed all over the UK and internationally since 2008. His work has been published by Influx Press, 'The Erotic Review', Burning House Press and many more. www.paulcasespeaks.co.uk

Malavika

    THINGS I REGRET. A professor. My love. Another professor. Her caste. Two countries. Not sure which one. Not eating on time. Not doing sprints. The girl in the street I broke a wind chimer of. Hotel rooms. Not raising voice. Vaccines but unrecognised. Genetic hyperpigmentation. Too little Money. Too many potatoes. Trusting one from the other side. Meat back home was fresh and cheap. Difficulty in forgiving mothers. Easily forgiving oneself.     Malavika is currently doing her Master's in Poetry at UEA. Apart from writing poems She likes to paint and lounge mostly. Website: https://www.malavikaudayan.com/

Kari Pindoria

    i collect items left behind by ex-boyfriends as if they are souvenirs i count myself lucky and hold my breath in the shower to practice peace on days that feel like a blister i know somewhere children are laughing and you are folding your favourite pair of jeans or eating shredded cheese straight from the bag which sits in the fridge by a pint of spoiled milk     Kari Pindoria is based in London and studied English Literature at Goldsmiths University. She is yet to be published but is working on a short fiction story and a memoir about her experiences recovering from anorexia nervosa. She is currently working with the NHS as a Mental Health Peer Support Worker.

Sunyi Dean

      Kleptomaniac  Lover, all my life I've been lightfingered to the nth degree finagling what wasn't mine, some rings and lipstick, once a dress her sun-drained hair, a hidden glance two books I loved yet never read family heirlooms, happiness (all priced too high, you understand) but now I'm stealing us more time pinching ticks from cosmic pockets— the clocks won't miss a couple tocks. Between us and beneath the sheets I hoard these stolen minutes close, collecting heartbeats in the silence as I learn to live your rhythm. Only in this place, with you, can I be loved as my unlovely self be seen, in a more kindly light than perhaps a thief deserves. So melt the church bells, take their tolls smash watches for their seconds— sustain this perfect, stolen moment in our timeless slice of heaven.     Sunyi Dean is an autistic fantasy writer, living in inner-city Leeds. Her debut novel, THE BOOK EATERS, is a contemporary fantasy set in Yorkshire, and will be...

Joseph Ajilore

    THE CHILD BECOMES A PARENT She comes bearing gifts and apologies Giving love out of guilt From my days as an embryo, I knew her Whispers in my phone past bedtime Climbing through the window past curfews Teenage angst and my insecurity shows 'I hate you, I hate you' Kitchen turned to a battlefield and words hurt more than pelted bullets. The ungrateful birthdays and wrapped presents. Did I grow too fast? How wonderous you saw me as I saw myself. You said 'I am the essence of your being' So much pressure to be I push, you pull Flashed memories I pressed my chest upon yours and held tightly Tears appear without warning How selfish I was     Joseph Ajilore is a writer and the author of The Title Is Not Important. He is currently based in Bristol.

Previously featured

Malavika

    THINGS I REGRET. A professor. My love. Another professor. Her caste. Two countries. Not sure which one. Not eating on time. Not doing sprints. The girl in the street I broke a wind chimer of. Hotel rooms. Not raising voice. Vaccines but unrecognised....

read more

Kari Pindoria

    i collect items left behind by ex-boyfriends as if they are souvenirs i count myself lucky and hold my breath in the shower to practice peace on days that feel like a blister i know somewhere children are laughing and you are folding your favourite pair...

read more

Recent Prose

Michael Bloor on National Flash Fiction Day

      Stirring Ambition As they'd agreed that morning, the three old women met again at the crossroads on the heath, when the sun was sinking. They were beggars, clad in beggars' rags. War was once more in the land and beggars'...

Ella Dorman-Gajic

    Happiness is Free Wifi - After the billboard in Ealing Broadway shopping centre.   Contentment walks into a coffee shop, is offered super-speed free Happiness with her blueberry muffin, under 100 calories. ‘FUCK ME’, Contentment...

Robert Garnham

      Cutting Through The tea-light flames would dance as if a modernist ballet were being staged in each of the glass dishes from expensive supermarket puddings. He had dotted them around his ground floor flat, on various pieces of...

David Sapp

      Groundhog Bachelor and Drunk Ganders Before the art opening, over appetizers downtown, leisurely and expansively, my aunts Evelyn and Jane swapped stories availing the phrase “it’s true, it’s true” too frequently. According to...

Harry Wilding

    DIY with Biscuits The sound of the drill was not enough to completely drown out his voice. ‘Sure that’s in the right place?’ Gerry asked. I focussed on the screw disappearing into the wall. ‘Mary? You hear me? You sure that’s not too...

Recent Haiku

Samo Kreutz

      Haiku morning fog still recognizable children's laughter * winter begins no place in my notebook for revised resolutions * first snow her hair shines in a new colour     Samo Kreutz lives in Ljubljana, Slovenia....

Kamrun Nahar

      Manipulation the song of silence can demolish thousands springs Today I tell a story about a young girl who was very skittish in her childhood . Couldn't seat a single place for a minute, couldn't remain few seconds silence...

Mona Bedi

      Four Haiku * a date with myself inside the fortune cookie a love note * migraine... the storm fails to subside * museum tour my husband lingers at the kamasutra painting * renovation I refuse to remove the pigeon's nest  ...

Cheng Tim Tim

    Hi, you. Mouth slightly open to the sight of dandelion: why’d you shove it in? Bitter lion teeth, breathtakingly ticklish, seed in a wrong bed.     Cheng Tim Tim is a teacher and a poet born in Hong Kong to a Hokkien family....

Samo Kreutz

      Haiku * small boy under his feet skyscraper shadows * kitchen table at the master's place a tiny spider * evening forest not quite big enough for all the shadows *     Samo Kreutz lives in Ljubljana, Slovenia. Besides...

News

Runaways London

Runaways London

Whilst many people view the trade in enslaved people as something which took place along the so-called ‘Middle...

read more

Word & Image

Video Channel

Runaways London

Runaways London

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSG5IkAWgFs&t=8s   History, storytelling and escape from slavery in...

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Paul Case

    Bridges They push forward, vibrating in their ecstatic skirmish, voices unified over gang choruses, clenched fists raised toward the ceiling. They might glimpse us, on the cusp stage lights’ sweep, hidden like old toys. We’ll be softly nodding our heads to the beat, plastic pints dribbling foam down our hands, already dreading tomorrow’s hangover.  Maybe later we’ll build a bridge, fashioned from powders and wreathes of cigarette smoke; bolstered by shots and chats that go nowhere. But it’ll crumble under the light, and our futures will fork like a wishbone. Paul Case is an Edinburgh-based writer and spoken word performer. He has performed all over the UK and internationally since 2008. His work has been published by Influx Press, 'The Erotic Review', Burning House Press and many more. www.paulcasespeaks.co.uk

Malavika

    THINGS I REGRET. A professor. My love. Another professor. Her caste. Two countries. Not sure which one. Not eating on time. Not doing sprints. The girl in the street I broke a wind chimer of. Hotel rooms. Not raising voice. Vaccines but unrecognised. Genetic hyperpigmentation. Too little Money. Too many potatoes. Trusting one from the other side. Meat back home was fresh and cheap. Difficulty in forgiving mothers. Easily forgiving oneself.     Malavika is currently doing her Master's in Poetry at UEA. Apart from writing poems She likes to paint and lounge mostly. Website: https://www.malavikaudayan.com/

Kari Pindoria

    i collect items left behind by ex-boyfriends as if they are souvenirs i count myself lucky and hold my breath in the shower to practice peace on days that feel like a blister i know somewhere children are laughing and you are folding your favourite pair of jeans or eating shredded cheese straight from the bag which sits in the fridge by a pint of spoiled milk     Kari Pindoria is based in London and studied English Literature at Goldsmiths University. She is yet to be published but is working on a short fiction story and a memoir about her experiences recovering from anorexia nervosa. She is currently working with the NHS as a Mental Health Peer Support Worker.

Sunyi Dean

      Kleptomaniac  Lover, all my life I've been lightfingered to the nth degree finagling what wasn't mine, some rings and lipstick, once a dress her sun-drained hair, a hidden glance two books I loved yet never read family heirlooms, happiness (all priced too high, you understand) but now I'm stealing us more time pinching ticks from cosmic pockets— the clocks won't miss a couple tocks. Between us and beneath the sheets I hoard these stolen minutes close, collecting heartbeats in the silence as I learn to live your rhythm. Only in this place, with you, can I be loved as my unlovely self be seen, in a more kindly light than perhaps a thief deserves. So melt the church bells, take their tolls smash watches for their seconds— sustain this perfect, stolen moment in our timeless slice of heaven.     Sunyi Dean is an autistic fantasy writer, living in inner-city Leeds. Her debut novel, THE BOOK EATERS, is a contemporary fantasy set in Yorkshire, and will be...

Joseph Ajilore

    THE CHILD BECOMES A PARENT She comes bearing gifts and apologies Giving love out of guilt From my days as an embryo, I knew her Whispers in my phone past bedtime Climbing through the window past curfews Teenage angst and my insecurity shows 'I hate you, I hate you' Kitchen turned to a battlefield and words hurt more than pelted bullets. The ungrateful birthdays and wrapped presents. Did I grow too fast? How wonderous you saw me as I saw myself. You said 'I am the essence of your being' So much pressure to be I push, you pull Flashed memories I pressed my chest upon yours and held tightly Tears appear without warning How selfish I was     Joseph Ajilore is a writer and the author of The Title Is Not Important. He is currently based in Bristol.

News

Runaways London

Runaways London

Whilst many people view the trade in enslaved people as something which took place along the so-called ‘Middle...

read more

Word & Image

Video Channel

Runaways London

Runaways London

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSG5IkAWgFs&t=8s   History, storytelling and escape from slavery in...

read more

Previously featured

Malavika

    THINGS I REGRET. A professor. My love. Another professor. Her caste. Two countries. Not sure which one. Not eating on time. Not doing sprints. The girl in the street I broke a wind chimer of. Hotel rooms. Not raising voice. Vaccines but unrecognised....

read more

Kari Pindoria

    i collect items left behind by ex-boyfriends as if they are souvenirs i count myself lucky and hold my breath in the shower to practice peace on days that feel like a blister i know somewhere children are laughing and you are folding your favourite pair...

read more

Recent Prose

Michael Bloor on National Flash Fiction Day

      Stirring Ambition As they'd agreed that morning, the three old women met again at the crossroads on the heath, when the sun was sinking. They were beggars, clad in beggars' rags. War was once more in the land and beggars'...

Ella Dorman-Gajic

    Happiness is Free Wifi - After the billboard in Ealing Broadway shopping centre.   Contentment walks into a coffee shop, is offered super-speed free Happiness with her blueberry muffin, under 100 calories. ‘FUCK ME’, Contentment...

Robert Garnham

      Cutting Through The tea-light flames would dance as if a modernist ballet were being staged in each of the glass dishes from expensive supermarket puddings. He had dotted them around his ground floor flat, on various pieces of...

David Sapp

      Groundhog Bachelor and Drunk Ganders Before the art opening, over appetizers downtown, leisurely and expansively, my aunts Evelyn and Jane swapped stories availing the phrase “it’s true, it’s true” too frequently. According to...

Harry Wilding

    DIY with Biscuits The sound of the drill was not enough to completely drown out his voice. ‘Sure that’s in the right place?’ Gerry asked. I focussed on the screw disappearing into the wall. ‘Mary? You hear me? You sure that’s not too...

Recent Haiku

Samo Kreutz

      Haiku morning fog still recognizable children's laughter * winter begins no place in my notebook for revised resolutions * first snow her hair shines in a new colour     Samo Kreutz lives in Ljubljana, Slovenia....

Kamrun Nahar

      Manipulation the song of silence can demolish thousands springs Today I tell a story about a young girl who was very skittish in her childhood . Couldn't seat a single place for a minute, couldn't remain few seconds silence...

Mona Bedi

      Four Haiku * a date with myself inside the fortune cookie a love note * migraine... the storm fails to subside * museum tour my husband lingers at the kamasutra painting * renovation I refuse to remove the pigeon's nest  ...

Cheng Tim Tim

    Hi, you. Mouth slightly open to the sight of dandelion: why’d you shove it in? Bitter lion teeth, breathtakingly ticklish, seed in a wrong bed.     Cheng Tim Tim is a teacher and a poet born in Hong Kong to a Hokkien family....

Samo Kreutz

      Haiku * small boy under his feet skyscraper shadows * kitchen table at the master's place a tiny spider * evening forest not quite big enough for all the shadows *     Samo Kreutz lives in Ljubljana, Slovenia. Besides...

Picks of the Month

Reviews

Angela France reviews Everlove by Maggie Butt

Angela France reviews Everlove by Maggie Butt

Everlove is a title to live up to but the poems in Maggie Butt’s sixth collection are everloving in that they demonstrate her enduring and empathetic concern with the human condition. The collection...

read more