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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

Samo Kreutz

      Haiku * small boy under his feet skyscraper shadows * kitchen table at the master's place a tiny spider * evening forest not quite big enough for all the shadows *     Samo Kreutz lives in Ljubljana, Slovenia. Besides haiku (which he has...

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Sarah L Dixon on Mother’s Day

      Happiness in my lockdown sock drawer Test-tubes, conical flasks and molecules. Back to A Level Chemistry with Mr Cartwright we learn about magnetism with marker pen examples. A moon lander, planets and a telescope and I am back in my childhood...

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Morag Smith

      Mrs McNab All of a sudden, would Mrs McNab see that the house was ready, one of the young ladies wrote…Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse. She comes as summoned, care taker with a leer, a lurch, a grinding of boots on shingle, tears cobweb veils of...

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Donald Zirilli

      The Night A gymnasium with crepe paper and leather soles, an iron box with only singles, rain without the drop, a clever dance where the floor taps our shoes. I cling to your scapula, your hand, like clothespins, like darkness, following the...

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Mark Totterdell

      Stars Emerging from the tent at 3am, you see this field of fools, that hedge, the sea, all subtly lit by an array of stars in numbers that your mind cannot compute. They’re barnacles fixed on a dark flat rock, and that faint streak of quartz marks...

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Steph Ellen Feeney

      New same Year                                                             January 2021     Every day,           I am a mother, and I am asked   to explain things I don’t really                understand   – like contrails      or the...

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Rebecca Faulkner

      Half Brother (It rained, remember?) We climbed to the roof, took turns dying our bodies glistened & shook, mist from our tongues I step into your game screaming I get five lives! (but you always win) Hold your breath, count to ten cut your...

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Helen Finney on International Women’s Day

      The Gift A walk in the park. I see a girl sitting cross-legged on the grass, in front of her a box tied neatly with red ribbon, she stares at it, her chin resting in her palms. She doesn’t move. I watch others watching till a boy approaches, he...

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Bern Butler

      First Snow When snow fell at night, it was her future decided in hushed tones outside the room where she slept, so in the morning when she rose her world had been swapped, swivelled like a set in a play, permitting her (as she stepped out) to...

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The Boxer by Tom Stockley

(content warning for mental illness) the boxer by Tom Stockley three months ago, i was stood here wishing more than anything to fall into the water, to stop feeling so much pain for just existing three months later, i walked past saw a man get off his bike, stand...

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Helen Grant

    Oranges On a dark Friday, in the early night I walked past an orange on the pavement by a parked ambulance, in a setback carpark, under faltering streetlights and hefty air. No stars were shining but this orange seemed to do so, and for a fleeting moment...

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Rob A. Mackenzie

    Workshop for Shy Self-Promoters Although I have never been on the pushy side of unassertive, what precedent in tactical avoidance I’ve established for shy self-promoters!: a workshop on low-visibility preening in Ray Bans and balaclavas by Inspirational...

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William Stephenson

    The Human Market Animals gather beneath a plasma screen in the square: a colony of lemurs with calculators in their paws, lizards with phones that twitter and purr. How did you get here, naked, bruised, unshaven? An owl scratches numbers into your...

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Claire Walker

    Emily Little love, I see your face, so like your grandfather’s. There is the obvious - his July-lion’s mane tamed to your September copper. But me in the middle, part him, part you, I was always too distracted by laundry, homework, things that keep a...

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John Greening

    1901: The Interpretation of Owls (Four owls on a branch, and one on its own, all smoking long churchwarden clay pipes, and listening to the music of a songbird in front of a giant moon – like five patients waiting for wise Dr Freud.)   The First...

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