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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

Gareth Culshaw

      The Lost Tongue Some said he had no tongue. The words he spoke came through his body. I watched him nod, put up a thumb, flick his head, shake a hand, shrug, and walk fast as if his feet were on fire. Not many people knew him or maybe they didn’t...

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Sally Michaelson 

      No Show Poser un lapin is what I keep doing when I suggest we meet in the forest where the air is soft and the trees leafing as though we could walk side by side without touching as though you hadn’t entwined your feet round mine like roots...

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Oliver Smith

      The Road to Witcombe Water As she passed the white hemlock weeds that crowded the verges beneath the wires from the Old Exchange, my mother left her footprints remembered by the gravel, dusty tracks by the lichgate, fifty years by the weathered,...

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Charles G Lauder, Jr

      Sweeping out the Store Before the finality of his broom and the open door he    pauses to study the trails toing and froing along the dusty sidewalk some crossing this threshold to buy supplies a pair or two don’t stop head on past to the saloon...

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Marie Little

      The Shed Key has a Passive Voice The shed key was lost. The little one tells me it was sucked down a super massive black hole the middle one hopes we will find it by clawing through cat shit the biggest one emits a sound akin to the thump of a...

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Thoughts from my morning coffee cup by Emilie Branford

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qpRQwL6RXk   Thoughts from my morning coffee cup 'Meet you in memory Present time has forgot Thoughts burn Like kerosene Cold blood now Feels hot.'     Emilie Inger Camilla Branford is a bilingual Fine Art graduate based...

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Quentin Cowdry

      Cold Case Their front door. What was the colour? Blue? Green? No, some things they could agree so it must have been white, no doubt a beaten white, needing a repaint. Because, after all this time, it’s the truth he wants, a nailing of fault, he...

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Pat Edwards

      The printer needs paper We think we know what it means when this message appears, but do we really. Dutifully we search out the half-used packet, refill the over-complicated tray mechanism and carry on printing. But, in what seems like so short a...

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 Stephanie Powell

      The iron moon, looks differently under hospital windows shakes down completely sometimes, touches the eye of the rich drunk- squatting in the alleyway for a piss It is not romantic, no. Does not bring knees to pavement- does not heal broken skin....

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Sam Garvan

      The Last Train Pulls Away That day, my mother wore her rose-print and wandered from room to room in acres of blossom. She heard a thin, far loophole in the wind sweeter than new-mown hay. Her face was lit. Out of nowhere my father come back from...

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Kevin Higgins

       Their Return The people who lived here before, we slowly abolish them by buying beaming new fridges, washer dryers, cookers with fan ovens that actually work and two year warranties, more sofas for the cat to do Tai Chi on. Yet the rooms are...

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Pen Kease

      Visual Impairment for Rowan when you trace her lines brittle teeth cheek-bones you’ll remember your mother’s face know her by her footsteps when there is cacophony speak and sounds will become ordered new ride the water row and pull until you are ...

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Michael Bloor on National Flash Fiction Day

      Stirring Ambition As they'd agreed that morning, the three old women met again at the crossroads on the heath, when the sun was sinking. They were beggars, clad in beggars' rags. War was once more in the land and beggars' pickings were thinner...

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Emily Sharkey

      The Watchmaker stomach stilted, harbour bound, sweet dreams, love – oh, these rain clouds swirl like tea leaves in an ink-stained sky hush now, a golden-toned man hums time’s tune like notes to a song like beats to a heart whilst time scatters its...

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Rob Stuart

  Rob Stuart’s poems, visual poems and short stories have been published in magazines, newspapers and webzines all over the world. He has also written the screenplays for several award-winning and internationally exhibited short films.

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Heidi Slettedahl

      Flowers and Baguettes Her shopping trolley thought she had the kind of life where flowers and baguettes would feature regularly. She was just shopping for detergent and descaler. She wanted to live up to this imagined life, even sometimes bought...

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Tessa Foley

      Assortment But he watched me eat the chocolate, One, two, three, four, cordial lime, he Sat while I settled on this bridal pebble, and then on the monopoly hat filled with chew, He was only a boy, who could unmould my thoughts just by waiting to...

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Katy Mahon

      LAUREL She keeps a vigil by lake Kournas each evening when the sun and moon are on an even keel, before their alignment shifts and tilts one upwards and the other into the arid ground. She lights a candle and recalls the chase as the flame quivers...

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Dana Miller

      High July A sunset walk in the high blue, one of those days that stretches so far you can’t believe the morning belongs to the afternoon, or that either could ever become a night. I would have been here sooner but I was busy cleaning up the mess...

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