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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

Esha Volvoikar

      Ripening The earth cracks and we are left with the same shared moon. She peers through my lattice window and hides behind your city’s smoke. Have you ever caught her covertly climbing the ladder, the hoards below are distracted watching the...

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Violeta Zlatareva

    Money for Candles The neighbor is a devout woman. She bakes bread and lights candles, scolds the noisy children of others, and dresses in modest clothes. Everyone in the building fears her. They believe she can see through skin. Let someone lie or even...

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Robin Vaughan-Williams

      Does anybody want any money? I've got all this money lying around. Have you got anything you can do with it? I asked Josie but she doesn't want it. Klio says the extension is already paid for. Geoff has a job and wants to pay his way. Craig says...

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Rizwan Akhtar

    Love What fell between an abrupt shower and a sky’s attitude was your memory. In the small presence of wind under a tree, I stopped renovating your image, after the silence ploughed over, the days we spent in front of each other, agreeing that the...

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Jeff Gallagher

      Ramadan Colleagues munching bap and burger thought Ramadan was that juicy winger, his scorching pace soon snaffled up by City. Giving stuff up, they say, is murder - and two weeks into Lent they bring a secret snack to work through sheer...

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Sue Moules

      BLACKBIRD IN THE EARLY MORNING   Sings at the top of the bare-branched tree an aubade to morning welcomes the light, early spring, season of nest-making. This melody is not for me but to attract a mate. I walk the dog under the dulcet notes and...

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Andrew Tucker Leavis

      Poseidon at the Spill as the tanker tore its throat against the shallow spine, as the village unravelled when the sea took fire; in a hi-vis flower of diesel light, he rose. finding his tongue tang-stained with oil he yanked his ankle-chain to its...

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Patricia Minson

      Wood Anemone   Between the trees dust shifts, light fractures like a prism. A cathedral silence greens the air. The soil smells of damp books. I see them — paper-thin, spreading on the dark floor of the wood. Still as a shut door. Nothing...

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In Praise of … Mat Riches on Robin Houghton

Given how much she does for the poetry community—the Planet Podcast series with Peter Kenny, her monthly submissions newsletter, her blog posts, her books on getting published, launching a publisher with other folks, etc.,  it’s heartwarming to see the attention being...

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B. Anne Adriaens

      Fancy etymology for a vacant lot The French term terrain vague enfolds a plot of land I thought at first was vague, undefined and malleable. As a noun, this vague echoes on the edge of its meaning: perhaps a patch of earth evoking a wave, capable...

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John Bartlett

      sclerenchyma mornings I wake wary of abundance wondering why I’m still here and then I recall all the green leaves with their hiding birds and the slow triumph of ripening pods here lily stalks move like living things for this is what they are...

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Maya Little

      Longing golden shovel after Czesław Miłosz I’m trying to stop thinking about what I want to not // be. Sometimes I have looked into my heart and found that // everything’s packed up. The space so unassuming that I // catch myself thinking, where...

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Liz Byrne

      I want to be two-tongued again To go back to the time when I slipped from one language to another with ease, when I knew the contours of my Irish home. To stand with Dad by the window, chat in the room of our own tongue about my day, my dreams. I...

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Matthew Thorpe-Coles

      Revisited Trees after Harold Monro from Trees: lingering their period of decay in transitory forms. I One summer afternoon, you find yourself needing respite from the light and glossy sepia, from sweat and the rosacea. You retreat back to your...

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S Reeson

      Lightbulb Moment only now  is it apparent     how dishonouring a body is a crime why did this not            imprint light up       in me           before that when in films       lynching desecration               has a price gives...

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Paul Connolly

      At Aber Falls   he felt nothing water sheeted past grottoes snakes of tributary lazed along below Yr Wyddfa a steam train sauntered by sun-sharp tufts of grass and black tears of earth upward away and all the land beside the train slipped down...

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Cindy Botha

      the colour of I notice her because she doesn’t have a dog in an afternoon of dog-walkers and she’s wearing a yellow coat it looks like a good coat, I know that much maybe the yellowest coat ever sewn she’s alone, stamping along the river bank...

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Alex Josephy

      A Vision after Sujata Bhatt the goddess of the library extends in cloth-bound curves along a lettered shelf sometimes her skirts are leather trimmed with gold, hems starred with colophons in other corners, she's Make Do and Mend, relics held...

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Anthony Wilson

      Moth My first of the season, its legs, tiny head and wings in permanent suspension above an exposition of the Enlightenment. I wasn’t really thinking, I just snapped shut at the right moment and now have it forever skipping for sheer joy.  ...

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