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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

Anuradha Vijayakrishnan

      Brief moments of light We walked by that lake each evening, within an inch of holding hands. Tiny firefish rushed to water’s edge to taste the aftermath of our feet. Vagrant water hyacinth and lonely snakebirds listened as we talked and talked....

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Sinéad McClure

      When is the zombie apocalypse? I might not make it. March 13th, 2020; The ghosts of Sligo's cholera outbreak walk us to the Lidl store, lurch when they see the masked and ready murmur tightly across the specials. I buy bamboo coffee cups, breathe...

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Ofem Ubi

      and so it goes… two boys neck-deep in a boiling argument talking about which album is best Made In Lagos or A Better Time a man calls beer the devil’s urine you do not swallow poison and expect to blossom a boy regurgitates the faces of exes...

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Jack Emsden

      In the form of a joke After Steven Wright I got a humidifier and a dehumidifier put them in the same room let them fight it out now my house is all shiny a confusion of moisture finding holes in the walls I watch the neighbours cooking eggs...

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Hannah Gordon

      Because a forest After Joe Cottonwood Because there’s a pandemic on and you should treat yourself to good air Because the height makes you look up and looking up feels good in your spine Because the air is fresh and you breath more consciously,...

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Word & Image by Debbie Strange

    discontinUnity   Debbie Strange is an internationally published, short-form poet, artist, and photographer whose creative passions connect her more closely to the world and to herself. She is the winner of the 2020 Snapshot Press Book Award and the...

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S.C. Flynn

      Brush-tailed landlords In Australia, we shared our house with possums who lived in the space above the ceiling. They had been there long before we moved in and likely regarded us as their tenants. We kept daylight hours that didn’t bother them and...

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Susan Darlington

    CARRIE (With reference to the Stephen King novel of the same title) I learn about the shame of a woman’s body from my mother’s handwritten notes. The ones I pass, red-faced, to my teacher that excuse me from showers and swimming. I stand at the edge of...

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Holly Conant

      Grooming My brain was full of hair that you wanted to brush, style like a dolly. Good dolly. You worked your way up to stroking it, as if I were fleshy, jellyfish tendrils, that I might sting you if I wasn’t ready. You gathered the threads of my...

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Jennie E. Owen

      I’m pulling my hair out again and I worry that this is how the children will remember me. As balls of tangled fluff, that roll lazily under the sofa, to snag later in the hoover.  Will they curse me every time they have to empty the bag?  Take it...

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Jane Pearn

      Gone The tap is not dripping. I check the windows and leave. The doors are all locked. I sit on the bus and wait for a thought. Nothing comes. The tap is not dripping. I look out at the muddy fields and write a note to myself. The doors are all...

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Chrissie Gittins

      Start With The Thing That Can Fly Away It was a goldfinch balancing on a teezle, she’d planted it for this very reason, and to see a tall hat of snow. The custard yellow flashes, the head dipped in red, the white apostrophes on black wings. But...

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Jason Visconti

      Alley Cat The dark never knew such corridors, The evening gallant upon its fur.     Jason Visconti has attended both group and private poetry workshops. His work has appeared in various journals, including Literary Yard, Indigo Rising,...

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Lara Frankena

      Bowled Over As I walk them home from school Sneaky Camouflage and Brave Barry train for The Big Fight, dangling from fence railings and fake-kicking brick walls in their black Mary Janes. They’re going to swap summer uniforms for shorts and...

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Rituparna Sahoo

    Birding at dusk On the shores of Mangalajodi: one of Chilika’s few undiscovered corners, the boatman welcomed me with warmth in his eyes. As these wetlands happen to be the turf of these poachers turned naturalists who know it like the back of their...

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D’or Seifer

      Visit Your building is an early 2000’s monstrosity. Mini palm trees and cultivated grass embedded in studded concrete, sweat stained balconies a spit away from the diamond exchange where night brings out prowlers in business suits and lambs paling...

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Michael Estabrook

      because I’m a car mechanic’s son When Ed who’s a doctor’s son couldn’t start his car in the snow outside Salzburg after The Magic Flute, I got out to push saying “Pop the clutch Eddie after I get her rolling” which I knew how to do – * because you...

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Helen Evans

      And sit with the dark In response to Stand in the Light by Elizabeth Rimmer And sit with the dark, when it comes. Smell the wax and the wick – watch its small orange tip glow brighter then fade into black. See the ghost of its flame on your...

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