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.

If you have come here looking for more information on our ‘Uprising & Resistance’ Project in conjunction with Spread the Word and Black Beyond Data, please go here.

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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Jay Whittaker 

. . . .We would go
to the cupboard where multi-packs
of Fine Fare’s basic crisps were sorted
into old shoe boxes, one for each child.

Kate Maxwell

I’d rather be inside
pretending I’m not
pretending commentary
inside my head
is real and here

Jim Murdoch

Some things we hold in trust,
some we forget we even own
and then there’re those items
we hang onto “just in case.”

Andrew McDonnell on Father’s Day

      Somewhere to get to The light is growing in the East the headlights skim the road that runs beside the flooded fields we’re a month off blossom when it comes I will drape myself in the year’s renewal and ask how many times I will see my little yard bloom the need to weed the gaps between the paving slabs and wall peg out my children’s clothes and breathe in the warm cotton the absence of the little bodies from the house and the yard calling to me from the cool interiors of rooms where we live our winter days are ending and soon the plants will grow and fill the empty patches of earth and wood and field my father would have been ninety this spring and the birds would sing to him as they sang to him that foggy day he slipped away and vanished over fences and walls and kept going forever without much to take with him on such a distance that he undertook by foot of course, he didn’t walk anywhere but I don’t think that matters a deal in the balance of things and...

Luke Reilly on National Flash Fiction Day

The man is a master. Through livestreams and televisions and retinas, through a giant screen in the city centre, sixty million people have been watching his furrowed brows. Waiting for his fingernails to pick up a piece of clamshell or slate and place it on a gridded board.

Previously featured

Jim Murdoch

Some things we hold in trust,
some we forget we even own
and then there’re those items
we hang onto “just in case.”

read more

Recent Prose

Luke Reilly on National Flash Fiction Day

The man is a master. Through livestreams and televisions and retinas, through a giant screen in the city centre, sixty million people have been watching his furrowed brows. Waiting for his fingernails to pick up a piece of clamshell or slate and place it on a gridded board.

Kayleigh Cassidy

Before I knew it, I was crying in front of my entire dance class. Thirty women and two men in neon active wear, staring at me as I tried to explain why I was late.

Meg Pokrass and Jeff Friedman (collaboration)

His guest from Scotland dawdled getting to the shower and by the time she arrived, it wasn’t there. Instead, there was a hologram of a shower, one that didn’t leak.

Hattie Logan

. . . There I was alone in the porters lodge, halfway through my morning coffee, black no sugar, when my walkie-talkie crackled into life. 
It’s Bruce, the gardener “Mike, are you there? Stella’s just left her hideaway and is heading towards you” . . .

Cheryl Snell

Follow your room-mate and her boyfriend, but not so close that either one notices. Think shadow. Think Pink Panther. Plop down in the middle seat of three in the theater. Pretend you don’t hear your room-mate say “Do you mind?” Back at the apartment tell her you want to switch bedrooms. “I need the room with the door.” Because migraines.

Recent Haiku

Anthony Lusardi

the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting.

Chen-ou Liu

snow crystals
on my neighbor’s windows …
Foreclosure askew

& more

Shasta Hatter

Empty Basket

Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery.

Jayant Kashyap

We are in the bath, your hands
around my back, mine around yours—
everything covered in a fog.

Short Poems Feature III

as a child, I learn to eat words

fill me up with words
brittle like sugared almonds
they crunch in my bones

Amaleena Damlé

News

Word & Image

Jonathan Edis

Jonathan Edis

Beware the Phantom Limbo Dancer

beware
the phantom limbo dancer
who steals in unawares

read more

Filmpoems

Sarah James/Leavesley

Sarah James/Leavesley

There is a secret spot
in every town and city –
step in the right place
at the right time and pace
and the world disappears…

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Jay Whittaker 

. . . .We would go
to the cupboard where multi-packs
of Fine Fare’s basic crisps were sorted
into old shoe boxes, one for each child.

Kate Maxwell

I’d rather be inside
pretending I’m not
pretending commentary
inside my head
is real and here

Jim Murdoch

Some things we hold in trust,
some we forget we even own
and then there’re those items
we hang onto “just in case.”

Andrew McDonnell on Father’s Day

      Somewhere to get to The light is growing in the East the headlights skim the road that runs beside the flooded fields we’re a month off blossom when it comes I will drape myself in the year’s renewal and ask how many times I will see my little yard bloom the need to weed the gaps between the paving slabs and wall peg out my children’s clothes and breathe in the warm cotton the absence of the little bodies from the house and the yard calling to me from the cool interiors of rooms where we live our winter days are ending and soon the plants will grow and fill the empty patches of earth and wood and field my father would have been ninety this spring and the birds would sing to him as they sang to him that foggy day he slipped away and vanished over fences and walls and kept going forever without much to take with him on such a distance that he undertook by foot of course, he didn’t walk anywhere but I don’t think that matters a deal in the balance of things and...

Luke Reilly on National Flash Fiction Day

The man is a master. Through livestreams and televisions and retinas, through a giant screen in the city centre, sixty million people have been watching his furrowed brows. Waiting for his fingernails to pick up a piece of clamshell or slate and place it on a gridded board.

News

Word & Image

Jonathan Edis

Jonathan Edis

Beware the Phantom Limbo Dancer

beware
the phantom limbo dancer
who steals in unawares

read more

Filmpoems

Sarah James/Leavesley

Sarah James/Leavesley

There is a secret spot
in every town and city –
step in the right place
at the right time and pace
and the world disappears…

read more

Previously featured

Jim Murdoch

Some things we hold in trust,
some we forget we even own
and then there’re those items
we hang onto “just in case.”

read more

Recent Prose

Luke Reilly on National Flash Fiction Day

The man is a master. Through livestreams and televisions and retinas, through a giant screen in the city centre, sixty million people have been watching his furrowed brows. Waiting for his fingernails to pick up a piece of clamshell or slate and place it on a gridded board.

Kayleigh Cassidy

Before I knew it, I was crying in front of my entire dance class. Thirty women and two men in neon active wear, staring at me as I tried to explain why I was late.

Meg Pokrass and Jeff Friedman (collaboration)

His guest from Scotland dawdled getting to the shower and by the time she arrived, it wasn’t there. Instead, there was a hologram of a shower, one that didn’t leak.

Hattie Logan

. . . There I was alone in the porters lodge, halfway through my morning coffee, black no sugar, when my walkie-talkie crackled into life. 
It’s Bruce, the gardener “Mike, are you there? Stella’s just left her hideaway and is heading towards you” . . .

Cheryl Snell

Follow your room-mate and her boyfriend, but not so close that either one notices. Think shadow. Think Pink Panther. Plop down in the middle seat of three in the theater. Pretend you don’t hear your room-mate say “Do you mind?” Back at the apartment tell her you want to switch bedrooms. “I need the room with the door.” Because migraines.

Recent Haiku

Anthony Lusardi

the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting.

Chen-ou Liu

snow crystals
on my neighbor’s windows …
Foreclosure askew

& more

Shasta Hatter

Empty Basket

Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery.

Jayant Kashyap

We are in the bath, your hands
around my back, mine around yours—
everything covered in a fog.

Short Poems Feature III

as a child, I learn to eat words

fill me up with words
brittle like sugared almonds
they crunch in my bones

Amaleena Damlé

Picks of the Month

Reviews