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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

Sam Wilson Fletcher

    Kingley Vale Down the chalk track slick as soap. Wade the long grass in the meadow, bludgeon swinging, bag of stoats. Rabbit in my fingers squealing, into the grove of the gods I go. Old gods. Half-dead and never dying. Sucking needles, spitting berries....

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Dominic Fisher

      Thumbnail sketches Look how it all goes pale when you pinch, and floods with rose as you let go. That dot is probably not a planet though, too big the curved sky too foggy. Possibly a snowy evening a chalky moon has risen east of a cold mauve...

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Helen Sheppard

      Hair Growing up in small towns hairdressers offer crew cuts, curlers, wigs in severe bobs. In cities my fuzz is flat ironed, acid straight, topiary trimmed. In cosy bars, strangers clink pints on our table. Sweep sweaty palms across tips of my...

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Dan Stathers

      Escape of Harold ‘Rubber Bones’ Webb Chaplain asked me if I’d renounced my criminal ways, Depends on my girl, I confessed rattling the concrete flinders in my pocket. I’d sprung by midnight, slipped down my chiselled rabbit hole following hot...

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Richard Williams

    Dreamer Set the sat-nav for home but drive in the opposite direction without any sense of where or why you are going or where this will end or who you really are or might become each junction passed is a single recalculation of opportunities missed of...

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Jon Miller

    West Beach, Berneray You want your days to spread along the bay, a coat of gold light wind harvesting machair tuned to a sky littered with geese, sanderlings skittering in every direction a ferry waltzing the low tides of the Sound where you walk on sand...

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Celestine Stilwell

    Little boy dream  My brother used to burn ants with a magnifying glass. I blamed the sun for tempting his half-talking, grazed knees to kneel on hot tarmac. He’d run his pink-licked fingers through the slab’s trenches, collecting worm eggs beneath...

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Out On The World by Catriona Knapman

  Out On The World by Catriona Knapman Out on the world, out on the gentle crater edge there is a journey made by the curious, escaping the easily convinced. Out on the world, each station is a sort of progress, a sort of regression, each traveller carrying a...

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Jenny Robb

    Shap Fell In the murk of evening and car-heater fug, a thud. My five-year-old head hits the roof. The sheep is not quite dead. Bloodied on the top of Shap Fell her breath disappears into mist. No cars pass. I pray to see the sheep haul up onto matchstick...

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Ben Hartridge

    Spring Song I remember spring and everything a freshly washed clean smell of green. A newborn kind of rain left the parked cars shining like a passed shower. I remember cycling, the tarmac deep black and streaming, past the shoppers queueing the high...

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Molly Beale

    Wanting Joy Glory be to the changeable wretch I am       condemned to dance within. Spirits thumb a ride       surging synapse and hurling ourselves in directionless tangles. Joy is hard. Joy must. I seek sepulchred secret caves inside guts where sin...

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IS&T on Instagram Live with Gail McConnell.

Ink Sweat & Tears is testing the waters of Instagram live.  Join us Wednesday 7th April at 5pm on @insta.inksweatandtears to watch editing intern Memoona Zahid talk to poet Gail McConnell about her IS&T Press Michael Marks Shortlisted pamphlet Fothermather as...

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Cai Draper

    The Way I Grace the Passes with Jason as my witness Christmas day’s a thieving twice. once my time & next my wishlist: Wustof, steel, all six inches. that’s never him pinching our wages. Jesus! proprietor full of food & promises. can I get more...

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Sepia Progressions of Form by Allison Palmer

  Sepia Progressions of Form More than a few things had withered and died in the sunlight of the patio. At first nourished by heat, and then entirely undone by its persistence, leaves dried into their own kind of oblivion. So, their time of beauty was done....

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Prerana Kumar

    LAZY ABECEDARIAN FOR SUMMER MORNING PRESERVE ROUTINE A pile of kitchen-stove kindling twists Braids with achamma’s kuttichattan hair ribbon Creasing her fingers when she crushes a twig Dew-dropping her brew for new mothers in Early morning rose-light we...

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Maddy Kinkead

    spiralling during Planet Earth Attenborough’s voice echoes in my head (like God) He says that we need to act now (draws us all in with baby orangutans and birds that look like aliens.) Because otherwise, no one cares. Does he know that? Current levels of...

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Fred Melnyczuk

    Mountain in Winter White ground, and white sky / / / And white trees, and white light. Hiking along the path of a mountain’s ridge. . . Twisted branches hang like misshapen cages; bird-prisoners sing their little laments inside / / / And it is so cold....

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C.P. Nield

    Intruder A rattle spikes through my ear. Tin, tin, tin. Tintinnabulation. Fingers seeking their way in – sneaking, screaking fingers, scratching at the metal, scrambling for the bolt. Ding dong. What a racket! Tin, tin, tin. I’m on the sofa blinking at...

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