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The archive is a separate site formed from all the posts from that original Ink Sweat & Tears website, it consists of everything we have published up to the end of 2019.
Recent posts
Tim Brookes
Flock In the charity shop I try on a coat flocked with fake shearling, shaved-soft almost: fibres fired onto plastic to fool the wrist. At home I snap it. A dust of fur lifts, hangs, then drifts onto the draining board, the bulb, the bruised...
Kim Waters
Letter to L You’re a character, a Roman numeral, an internet meme. Descendant from a peasant’s crook or cattle prod, you’re the twelfth letter of the alphabet, but missing from a baker’s dozen. You’re in every email I ever wrote, appearing in...
Sylvie Jane Lewis
Comfort Queens "As usual, we are joined today by about nine or ten gay men who follow me, and a legion of young queer women with anxiety who find me comforting." Trixie Mattel, via a Livestream Being quiet and easily tired by being alive among...
Maryam Alsaeid
A Prayer for Rima With echoes of the Arabic lullaby ‘yalla tnam’ Maybe after your bath— you will sit for a moment, the towel will hold you close like a quiet prayer— يا رب، نامت الطفلة، يا رب خلّيها تنام Ya Rab, the child sleeps, oh Lord, help her...
Steve Komarnyckyj, Anna Bowles and Lynnda Wardle for Holocaust Memorial Day
TThe mirror in your apartment where I saw you praying through the angle of the door Now hangs only in my mind I breathe on its glass wipe away fly specks Tsyotsya but there is only the empty kitchen in the tower block in Volodymyr The rhomboids of...
Brian Johnstone and Steve Smart on Holocaust Memorial Day
Brian Johnstone (1950-2021), was one of the founders of Scotland’s International Poetry Festival, StAnza and directed the festival over its first decade. He also founded Shore Poets in Edinburgh. Brian’s work was published around the world, and included four...
Karina Patfield and Anthony Owen on Holocaust Memorial Day
Extracted Poems "never again" bloodshed will teach a lesson nobody will learn * the protocol little need be said about the mourning the keening of mothers the grief of fathers the silence of children their names will wrap the branches of trees not...
Annie Wright
Wight Sirens Sing silver times, shimmering columns of light on the wine-dark, temple to moon-eyed Hecate, the insatiable. Sing treachery, dizzy with stars, sudden squalls, sting of our stink, pianissimo of sighing, undying, true-to-only-you-oo...
Magnus McDowall
Seven Sisters Road We rolled out on Seven Sisters Road, two crates of Tyskie empty in my stairwell. We were talking from the chest, walking backwards crackling air above our heads like streetlights beatboxing, spitting Maccies adverts at us sounds...
Yucheng Tao
Blood and Ash But look here, I turned my head and discovered the Denver Museum waiting, a ghost that stood out in my sight, telling me that their land was spring— grass above flowers. Today, they lay in an Indian exhibition, silent; Their faces...
Sarah Boyd
Finely balanced He’s a house of cards, a delicately balanced pyramid held together by hearing aids and dusty bifocals and wobbling dentures and ageing pacemaker and shirt with three buttons missing in action and tea-stained cardigan with more...
Samantha Carr
Unexploded Bombs You became obsessed with nucleated red blood cells when you peeked through an aperture window at your liquid, viscous nature. You became obsessed with maps after an unexploded bomb exposed a Second World War timeline fault...
Jessica Mookherjee reviews ‘Grey Time’ by Julia Webb
Julia Webb’s Grey Time, her fourth collection with Nine Arches Press, insists on the full weather of grief. It refuses consolation or tidy acceptance, tracing the recursive ways mourning inhabits a life — memory, dream, body, animal. From the opening pages,...
Helen Akers
Window of tolerance we’re trying to construct a frame for this highly reactive impulsive emotion the nurse is looking into it meanwhile we must find something cold to hold lick it we’re trying to expand the tolerance – think of a moth...
Steph Morris
Eupatorium maculatum Acer pseudoplatanus Quercus robur About the plant poems: They were sketched from life in a notebook. Later I created riso prints with two or three colours based on the sketches. I tried to make the words...
Jenny Robb
Strange Brew Anne dances to the beat of my childish heart, sings to cobwebbed spiders. She is nanny number five, my own Mary Poppins. By the light of a wolf moon, my father turns mad. Anne whispers to a girl in the wind, and a friend blows into my life....
‘Love Song for Snow’ By Michelle Diaz is the IS&T Pick of the Month for December 2025. With Audio!
I love the whimsical way this develops like a slowly falling snowflake Snow may sometimes be an inconvenience and a bore, as many will have experienced this winter but it is also playful, wondrous and beautiful. And all too much in danger of disappearing. It is for...
Diane Webster
Revenge Squirrels dream of a cougar, a cougar given permission to crouch like an assassin awaiting its prey, its target; a cougar concealed in the squirrel tree. Squirrels scowl, chitter at the woman who once fed them corn and bread until she met...
Bill Jones
Three Jackdaws Three jackdaws walked widdershins around the birdfeeding station. A fat woodpigeon, pompous, hieratic, tried to undo their magic by walking from four to six. For a moment, the two birdfeeders, full of seeds and nuts, were the...
Zumwalt
take this I see how you see us in meetings: merchandise to slip off the shelf. Your eyes on the cameras overhead as you turn sideways to hide pilfering your deposits into your many pockets. Monday, Henderson talked about how to energize our sales team...