Mariam Saidan

      They were only worried when I started writing at 8, little poems, little stories, growing up in a big city called Tehran, cats and scared people running from Iraqi bombs and the Islamic Republic. I became a teenager and found a guitar sang my...

Brian Kirk

      Leaving The train is the way, the tracks a scar cut deep in the land you can’t help but touch. Across the viaduct and over the stinking estuary, leave fields behind for factories, waste ground, horses nosing rubbled grass, past a desert of...
The IS&T Internship Programme

The IS&T Internship Programme

APPLICATIONS FOR THIS ARE NOW CLOSED. WE ARE NOW LOOKING FOR INTERNS FOR 4-MONTHLY SLOTS TO BEGIN IN MARCH, JULY AND NOVEMBER 2025. PLEASE APPLY BEFORE MIDNIGHT 3RD FEBRUARY 2025. Ink Sweat & Tears inksweatandtears.co.uk is an online poetry and prose magazine that...

Michelle Diaz

      Mum was a raised axe and a party hat. A Victorian wardrobe packed with 1960s kaftans. She was the twist and the shout, the let it all hang out. She was convent school and wine cellar. She was a month of Ryvitas followed by a year of cake &...

Alice O’Malley-Woods

    XIX The Sun i run like a goat tongue-lolled and                 humping herbicide free positively molding i                 bog-leap and bristle pick peat from between     teeth cut on bone want to be so fucking ugly rolling fetid fox-musked but...