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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
Martin Ferguson
Simulacrum after Jean Baudrillard Pursue the facsimile of the attendance sign; here you must join the line. People in uniform will inform you where to stand, how to sit, when to scream how to follow the rules. When you pass this initial test, you...
Peter Branson
Saving Face Corvus carone, carone, the carrion crow Emerge, from way beyond the pale, one day, clenched feet an amulet about your wrist. You’re eight, like us, you say, toy wilderness we occupy, a monster on your fist, outlandish night. No tinge...
Alice Huntley
Elephantine carved from the tusk of my grandmother I am learning how to remember we follow the old paths traced through the bush that belongs and yet does not belong to us where we are born is where we pass through if I could, I would pull down...
Bel Wallace
My dad is thinking geometrically, eyes closed; he waves his arms to describe how he can transform a circle into a square. Did you know a line has only one dimension? That means it takes up no space. Perhaps trigonometry can save us. You need two...
Sarah Crowe
wig they gave me the cold cap to stop my chemo hair falling out brain freeze for hours a tight band of nausea but still my hair fell out i swept up my gold and silver hairs washed them laid them out to dry in neat lines on an old multicoloured...
Daniel Dean
Man Eating Leeks Watercolour on ivory C. 1824–5 Today I make myself green ivories, Unfix a broken rib and blacken it With carbon, drip on water so it spreads, Mix egg wash watercolour pigments fit To reinforce the scenes. The creatures grow, Bone of my bone,...
Lesley Burt
Shell-like either – a conch found in hot white sand on the shoreline at Sanur Beach a Fibonacci whorl among morning offerings – left with reverence lapped by ripples – while bright boats with sails proclaiming Bintang Beer ferry tourists across the reef to the roll...
Rachael Clyne’s ‘Homeland’ is the June 2025 Pick of the Month! Read and hear it here.
Because it is a beautiful evocation of the land/Palestine's grief 'Homeland' by Rachael Clyne powerfully pinpoints the current horrors of the world, particularly the genocide in Gaza, but also speaks to the general sorrow of displacement and loss of home. It's shape –...
Annie Acre
Solarpolar i am sun-shot / green-beamed / stem-steep / hands cupfuls of heartlines / conjuring water / my face light-dialled / hair wild / screaming beauty & i am root-retched / soiled-deep / dirt-dark / legs spindly – lost maplines / petering earth / my thirst...
Dennis Tomlinson
Passage to London Spring has come to swing his hammer, to drive crocuses forth from the leaf-scattered soil. Look at the workmen raising their scaffolding, opening roofs where the old tiles lay. While daisies peer shyly towards a pale sun I up and depart on the...
Jennifer Cole
My Precious Holding your cooling hand, bedside, they said I had better take your wedding ring or it might get “disappeared” its fading ghost now a mere shadow on my finger. So it hangs with mine – twin markers round my neck – chained together to...
Eithne Longstaff
Ulster Museum (26th July 2025) After ‘The Supper at Emmaus’ by Caravaggio On the road to Belfast today, I failed to recognise my father. I saw a flamingo by the Tamnnamore turn off, but paid little regard as it took off, legs stretched out behind...
Mark O’Connor
The Piano The last thing cleared from my Late parents’ house Was the piano. At half a tonne in weight It was like the anchor - This thing that kept us all Together; Without it, the tide came And carried us away. Mark O'Connor...
Michael Mintrom
A Map of Old Battles They lie deep in a forest, wounds unseen, unhealed. Further back, an escarpment with dark scars. Visiting, perhaps you expected something tactile, something to hold, markers of exact terrain, key sites on paper or cowhide. Who...
Thea Smiley
The Only Time I See My Father Swim There’s a hiss as he eases himself in to the green pool, steam in his smoky hair. Fish flicker around his feet, his legs lift, quiver like flames in the mountain river. Water spills over the plank dam to trickle across the rocks...
Roger Bonner
It’s Forbidden to Call it War It’s forbidden to call it war. We’re here to liberate you; ignore the glide bombs as they roar. Missiles across the sky still soar as tanks advance in a long queue, it’s forbidden to call it war. We’re not here to...
Maryam Seyf
Off Limits you and I sit facing each other in dialogue across the table light between us or so we think how curious our words rebound before reaching the intended addressee kisses perhaps, next time we meet. bring me something from you know where...
Kerry Darbishire
For the love of a fellside after The Lost Garden of Loughrigg – Penn Allen Imagine a spring day drawing out possibilities the newness of life, sisters in long skirts digging tangled ground, breaking bones and loam wild with bracken and rock on...
Paul Chuks
Reimagination of Gravity Newton didn’t discover gravity The apple did. He had sat Under the tree for many Years, until the day the Apple fell. This is how we Betray nature. In this poem I plant a tree & sit under it For many years. The year Is...
Lola Dekhuijzen
my friends are many-legged the silence is made up of the ticking of the clock that matches the slow drum of my heart. my sole companion is the empty-eyed stranger who seems to have gotten stuck inside the window, her hand always pressed against mine,...