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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

Imogen Cooper

      Moderately / A Lot / Extremely I have saved up so many things that they get in the way:  the smell of your temple, just above the ear; the grip of your hand for fear it will be the last. Your laugh and every cumulative ambulance clang jam-stuffed...

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Josie Moon

      Goat Keeper There is a hill with a house, goats graze in a green pasture. They are my responsibility When the righteous priest comes with his red ribbon I will run him through with a pitchfork, pin him to a tree before he touches one hair on one...

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      I am recovering from the crying I did yesterday I thought about it downstairs felt the low hum of a migraine beginning to squeal I prefer falling down the stairs I prefer watching a knife drop from my hand and land in my nail bed I prefer taking...

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Sharon Phillips

      Bay of Pigs Our mums pushed us on the swings and talked about the end of the world. Russians, they said, nuclear bombs, radioactive. What if? You never knew what might happen, bloody Commies, iron curtain, on telly. Ssh. The children. My mum...

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Word and Image by Martin Rieser

    Coffin Path     Martin Rieser is  both  a  poet  and  visual  artist.  His  interactive  installations  based  on  his  poetry  have been  shown  around  the  world,  including  Understanding  Echo  shown  in  Japan  2002,  Hosts  Bath Abbey...

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Shanta Acharya

      It It is the singularity of black holes a swarm of hummingbird hawk-moths  the insatiable hunger of caterpillars smile of a camel, song of a nightingale  the moon frail as the edge of a fingernail – It is dirty as a clam, economical as ants dark...

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Robert Nisbet

      Tones  A story in three remembered voices These were the voices which really seemed to shift things. She went, in her finals year, to a surgery, painted pre-war brown and cream, along from the Mumbles pier. There she heard the fat doctor, beaming...

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Mona Bedi

      Four Haiku * a date with myself inside the fortune cookie a love note * migraine... the storm fails to subside * museum tour my husband lingers at the kamasutra painting * renovation I refuse to remove the pigeon's nest     Mona Bedi is...

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Glenn Hubbard

      Outcrops Heaps topped by smaller rocks. The raffish angles of designer boulders. Jenga towers of tipsy stone. Lizard colony. Ombligo de Venus. Navelwort in paradise. Darkness; damp. Foxgloved fissures. Small pools filling fingerholds: finger...

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Olivia Tuck

      Vaccine The needle hits the deltoid with a moon-cold urgency; its jolt of fluid is ice barely thawed. Relax – sharp scratch. I hold myself against this detergent-white light. On the journey home, my pupils dilate: for the first time in months, I...

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Kathleen McPhilemy

      The Poetry Arm Today was all left-handed. I’ve slapped it on the wrist, wrapped what it’s written, hidden in a file, locked behind a password: a little bomb of bitterness I couldn’t post online. My left hand’s the clumsy one blundering on the...

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Lalah-Simone Springer

      How to pronounce Dagenham For Jodie Chesney First relax ur froat, ur maaf, ur vibe Not much to do about not much to do so ya chat shit: Wiv ya white shirt unbuttoned over West Ham strip Clanging pawnshop platinum on a baby blackbird’s chest. Narmy...

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Sarah Davies

      Fond The Earth is not even fond of us anymore or the Goddess or the bees or the glowing children. Only dogs entertain a tolerance for us - we earned it over time, blackmail of bones and treats, but some dogs want to bite, recalling, howl, they...

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Poulami Somanya Ganguly

      Here I am, again after John Yau & the room is cold with its geometry of faces a child looks through cellophane & imagines an escape a place moves in time like a needlepoint on water often it’s hard to tell what’s real from reflection as a...

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Swansong by Nicholas McGaughey

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvvnfZxh8Nw Swansong        After the leaves left, a chill wind came with a day to blow in my hometown. It was a cold return to places that had gone, to remain a second city.   The castle’s skull still stared over the...

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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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