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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
Mana Misaghi
Mythopolitics we make sure to pack a deck of cards for the train, or a sunday afternoon visit to the park. the cards will give our hands something tangible to do, and that thing should be as far away from Productive as possible, for that is the...
Taḋg Paul
Taḋg Paul is a queer poet, former LGBTQ+ rights campaigner, and software developer. In 2022, an injury rendered him quadriplegic. During hospitalization and rehab he rekindled a love for writing poetry. Today he volunteers at Fighting Words mentoring...
Mat Riches
Beef Rendang Hey kid, this won’t mean that much to you yet, but I didn’t taste my first proper curry till at least twenty-one—if we ignore Friday-night jar-based meals your Gran assembled, a few sultanas mixed in to make things more exotic. And...
David Sapp
Aimless Aimless between Dropping out Of art school And absolutely no Friggin’ money For Kenyon I moved in with Television and doting Grandma in flowered Wallpapered rooms Sat on her porch Back and forth On the glider That Grandpa and I Hauled home...
Debbie Strange
Debbie Strange (Canada) is a chronically ill poet and artist whose creative passions connect her more closely to the world. Her book, Random Blue Sparks (Snapshot Press, 2024), received 3rd Place in the 2025 Haiku Society of America Merit Book Awards.
Gareth Writer-Davies
In the Dales after John Ashbery it's a special kind of empty the footed earth, saluting the sky so much to see I took a photograph of you posed in the window seat punchy red slippers blurring rock and field the same window in five years? jenny...
Sam Szanto
Spotted in a 7-Eleven in North Hollywood It beckons from between plasters and hand cream, the box bright-white, the lettering green. The first time I needed one, I visited a chemist in London, murmuring to a middle-aged man across the counter as...
A Warm Welcome to Sairah Ahsan, IS&T’s Newest Editing Intern!
The Heart and the Stomach Fists of smooth muscle curl in sleep clutch at hunger. Sticky with a sick feeling they anticipate the winter tundra of empty cupboards. They are stirred into living by a shushed conversation between the Fog and the Sea. I press my face...
Tamara Evans
Return Travel West. Submerge yourself in the M4’s homeward drift. Remember how its nightly glow bewitched the kid at your bedroom window? It looked like fire, didn’t it? Exit at junction 34. Drop into street view Follow the lane down past prickly...
Rushika Wick
quiet slid in bass-drop dams up pierced ears, furred with youth, his vest drinks sweat, high-tops, Moog-loop domed cap punctured with embroidery, brailled ethnographic record, reverb haze of brisk lavender, wire mesh trash of the park, sun-burnt song,...
Helen Smith
safety in numbers lunchtime, in the maths department arranging pencils by colour two friends, carefully sorting into clear plastic tubs a temporary stand against the inevitable entropy of fourteen-year-olds this, and each september brightened by a new...
Carolyn Oulton
Autumn Fires Unexpected as burned stone, what am I supposed to do with this memory? The sudden shuffle of ash, flames clicking like needles, grey-cold flags. You there just now – I can’t be sure – perhaps about to be? 5 a.m., still curved like wax...
José Buera
CONFIRMATION Aircon crickets through the night outside my parents’ bedroom since brother and I are not allowed AC given the dangers of cold air to children. I can’t sleep under my polyester blanket; wet back stuck to cotton sheets fused to a mattress...
Abraham Aondoana
Inheritance of Smoke We did not inherit land, only remnants of fields they burned— black fields scorched before we understood what it meant to sow. Fathers left us silence: not of cruelty, but some shattering fear. Growing up, we learned to decipher...
Lorna Rose Gill
I Don’t Remember Breakfast With You Maybe I remember getting brunch; or the time the dog ate my croissant; or when you fed me strawberries ironically in bed and we giggled with sugar on our lips. These breakfasts bubbled like new rivers. Now,...
Francesco Palma
The nightmare where I am back in middle school A speck of dust fights with glitter on the floor of my school’s gymnasium. A wrestling match rolling from corner to corner of the green linoleum, invisible to most. There is awkwardness in my legs,...
Adam Strickson
Remedial ‘Intended for school students who have not achieved the level of necessary attainment’ He couldn’t play rugby – the oval slithered away whenever he touched it and he fell in the mud or more often was pushed with some viciousness....
Leigh-Anne Hallowby
You used to be shorter When we first came here two seasons ago You were barely as high as my hip Now you can look me right in the eye It’s almost impossible to believe You’re not quite as tall as Giannis But you hope that one day you can Jump like...
Tadhg Carey
Pivotal When our plaything ricochets falling who knows where everything hinging on the line there is a precise moment when nothing is certain a glorious terrifying uncontrollable wait the receptacle of our hopes poised mid- air with infinite trajectories...
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
Art Exhibit I hear the roar of the ocean. I hear a series of shrieks and long screams. An eventual lull comes. My ears are an abstraction. I don’t know what to tell you. Last night a spider made its way inside my ear. It crawled out with fragments...