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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 Writer-Davies

      Kenwood Chef I blow dust (an epidermis of powdered sugar) from the plastic body and think of what Mother conjured from spatula whip and grinder (each task with its own attachment) never tiring helping hands that saved time for the hundred and one...

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D. Parker

        D. Parker spends most of her days surrounded by books both at work and at home. In her free time she reads and occasionally lets words form on paper.    

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Lydia Harris

      weather forecast for the funeral   there is a chance of deer grazing of mica rising in stone of knee deep sphagnum of two blank pages there is a chance of roses of lips being sealed of starling clouds yielding of a gurgle in the ditch of snipe...

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Anna Maria Mickiewicz

      The state of war For Ukraine Storm. Broken spruces like matches In the Estonian forest. Spruces or pines? Broken our souls, Those, who did pass across, will not understand… Those, who did not pass across, will not understand As well    ...

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Sam J Grudgings

      The birds are spies, they report to the trees   The birds don’t grant the day without sacrifice. We feed them gold bullion in place of corn. We are starving. We gift them an audience to our momentary. Tomorrow has gone, so we offer air burials as...

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Ilse Pedler

      Jed of the Dodgems My brother said you can’t make a mountain out of a sow’s arse and at sixteen he ran away to join the fair; changed his name from Gordon to Jed of the Dodgems, grew his hair, slicked it back with Brylcreem perfected the art of...

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Melanie Branton

      my brilliant boyfriend told me you’re not very intelligent, you only got good grades because you’re a conformist that’s the text we had to learn, boys are vowels girls are consonants, boundaries, sheepdogs, only there to hold the vowels together,...

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Kate Rigby

      Hyperhidrosis     ephemeral tides of a faulty sweat-tap bits of rubbish wastepaper with lives of their own to form a gallery accidental sculptures accidental shapes escape plop and drop to land celebrating moisture drop from crevices or...

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Kenneth Pobo

      Mrs. Panterluck says she doesn’t know why she keeps dis- appearing.  One minute she’s in a mall walking over to a perfume kiosk and the next she’s gone.  It’s like she misplaces her skin.  Wherever she is, she retains a brain, though Mr....

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Ruth Aylett

      Graphic Designs He arrives in a pixellated taxi so low-res he could be any of the men who’d tried to resize her round the axis of their doubts. Her fractal word within a word within a word, too small for her own resolution, plinks into the glass...

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Caleb Parkin

      Queertopia (Working Title) i dreamt it once     but i dream a lot of things     not all of them printable     but this was some kind of culty shit well      no        the good bits of a cult     if you can say cults have    redeeming features i...

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Philip Dunkerley

      Good Neighbour Irecê, Brazil An entrepreneur, he ran a butcher’s stall in the market. So you could see the meat he’d waft the flies away with his hand. We rented a house from him; he showed us the covered tank in the yard - that’s where the truck...

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Steve Griffiths

      Your artificial light gave out Your garden has no security, just the electronic sensor that whispers in husky unpredictable clicks that accompany the moths feeding in the darkness. To your mind, to my mind the world of the moths will be...

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David Punter

      Neighbourhood News Hi, I’m Bill. I’ve just moved in to that little house on New Street (you know the one, it’s been covered in graffiti for God knows how long). I’ve got six dogs and a dead rabbit which I keep in the fridge as well as lots of...

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Gurpreet Bharya

      Imagining myself as a bitter, old woman   Here I am as old as you said I would grow altogether alone drinking tea curled up with a gossip of stars and the milky thaw of the moon – the thrum of the air still thrums in me as the flowers fold in...

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Louise Mather

      Afflictions   I swallow the seams of the moon – they have always riddled me, if I lay on a stage of feathers I would still feel the underneath of dark atoms, afflictions you pull from the bridge only when god has given you to the water....

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Jon Miller

      Shadows night blinds the forest tracks pins itself to pine needles antennae frisk its long coat and small foxes learn their trade each leaf sleeps ponds close their one eye woods are busy in their dark diaries as all the shadows unbuckle slip...

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