Ink Sweat & Tears is a UK based webzine which publishes and reviews poetry, prose, prose-poetry, word & image pieces and everything in between. Our tastes are eclectic and magpie-like and we aim to publish something new every day.

We try to keep waiting-time short, but because of increased submissions, the current waiting time between submission and publication is around twelve weeks.

If you have come here looking for more information on our ‘Uprising & Resistance’ Project in conjunction with Spread the Word and Black Beyond Data, please go here.

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Buy Ink Sweat & Tears Publishing books and pamphlets here.

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Ian Seed

What was the Welsh for ‘hedgehog’? That was what he wanted to know.

Sue Wallace-Shaddad

Rectangular, with corners cut off like an octagon, muddy brown shows through the cream exterior where the edges are chipped.

Cally Ann Kerr on International Transgender Day of Visibility

How many blows does it take to crack an egg?
Is a question I never expected to ask
If you don’t know, I should tell you, an egg
Is what they call the girl inside the male mask

Gita Ralleigh, Julian Matthews, Jackie Taylor on Colouring Outside the Lines

The hue of brides, appliquéd dark with henna.
Citron’s acid curl, vernal blades between teeth.

Sue Moules

I sell the postcard
of multi-coloured sheep
over and over again.

Previously featured

Helen Finney

At my feet the window sprawls a view of kneaded land,
craggy baked by the hand of the gods, dusted green
with short bit grass.

read more

Eugene O’Hare

It hasn’t been this bright all year –
the moon’s white scalp, spot-lit,

a head turned away from a thing
the rest of us fear: unearthly dark

read more

Recent Prose

Layla Sabourian

We were happy people once. Not naïve, just animated, social, alive. We gathered constantly. We danced at weddings, at birthdays, at no occasion at all.

Joel Shelley

Dr Summers presses the ignition and the machine whirs to life.

Surmaya Talyarkhan

I first heard of aphantasia in a writing workshop – a poet told us she didn’t see visual images in her head. I had always thought everyone didn’t.

Louella Lester

When Mom flew off with the Canada geese you made me promise that we would never leave one another.

Jo Bardsley

The little piece of newspaper, crisp and dark with age, flutters out of the gritty space between the fridge and the cabinet. I am cleaning the house while my wife is at school and at first I don’t understand.

Recent Haiku

Wayne F. Burke

faces on a school bus:
petals of flowers
unopened

Debbie Strange

midnight sun
a polar bear’s breath
catches fire

Debbie Strange

winterberry
the first holiday
alone

On the Fifth Day of Christmas we bring you John Greening, Finola Scott, Philip Dunkerley

today, Christmas Eve,
my granddaughter visiting
her bright eyes – her faith

Rhonda Melanson

The magic of growing things, its tangible beauty, I did not understand.

News

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Chris Gylee

Chris Gylee

  1997 - Dream as Animal J. Smith Animal is going to disappear, completely Standing out on the street Down the...

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Ian Seed

What was the Welsh for ‘hedgehog’? That was what he wanted to know.

Sue Wallace-Shaddad

Rectangular, with corners cut off like an octagon, muddy brown shows through the cream exterior where the edges are chipped.

Cally Ann Kerr on International Transgender Day of Visibility

How many blows does it take to crack an egg?
Is a question I never expected to ask
If you don’t know, I should tell you, an egg
Is what they call the girl inside the male mask

Gita Ralleigh, Julian Matthews, Jackie Taylor on Colouring Outside the Lines

The hue of brides, appliquéd dark with henna.
Citron’s acid curl, vernal blades between teeth.

Sue Moules

I sell the postcard
of multi-coloured sheep
over and over again.

News

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Chris Gylee

Chris Gylee

  1997 - Dream as Animal J. Smith Animal is going to disappear, completely Standing out on the street Down the...

read more

Previously featured

Helen Finney

At my feet the window sprawls a view of kneaded land,
craggy baked by the hand of the gods, dusted green
with short bit grass.

read more

Eugene O’Hare

It hasn’t been this bright all year –
the moon’s white scalp, spot-lit,

a head turned away from a thing
the rest of us fear: unearthly dark

read more

Recent Prose

Layla Sabourian

We were happy people once. Not naïve, just animated, social, alive. We gathered constantly. We danced at weddings, at birthdays, at no occasion at all.

Joel Shelley

Dr Summers presses the ignition and the machine whirs to life.

Surmaya Talyarkhan

I first heard of aphantasia in a writing workshop – a poet told us she didn’t see visual images in her head. I had always thought everyone didn’t.

Louella Lester

When Mom flew off with the Canada geese you made me promise that we would never leave one another.

Jo Bardsley

The little piece of newspaper, crisp and dark with age, flutters out of the gritty space between the fridge and the cabinet. I am cleaning the house while my wife is at school and at first I don’t understand.

Recent Haiku

Wayne F. Burke

faces on a school bus:
petals of flowers
unopened

Debbie Strange

midnight sun
a polar bear’s breath
catches fire

Debbie Strange

winterberry
the first holiday
alone

On the Fifth Day of Christmas we bring you John Greening, Finola Scott, Philip Dunkerley

today, Christmas Eve,
my granddaughter visiting
her bright eyes – her faith

Rhonda Melanson

The magic of growing things, its tangible beauty, I did not understand.

Picks of the Month

Reviews