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

April Fool’s Day Greetings, from IS&T!

This is quite a good
bowl of roses
if the hostess wish

Pat Edwards

He is in white-out, stopped in his tracks,
dying for the comfort of a fag.
He makes a chalice around the flame,
hands becoming shield so he can light up.

Pamilerin Jacob

Annette the gap-toothed,
You kissed a man & I was born. You gave him
your laughter & he built an empire,

Fatihah Quadri Eniola

There is an album of all the men
your mother have loved. It sits every
night in the deep silence of the
basement.

Nathan Evans

If they ask where I am, tell them: I am
wintering. I have secreted small acorns
of sadness in crevices of gnarled limbs
and shall be savouring their bitternesses
on the back of my tongue until the days
lengthen.

Previously featured

Julian Dobson

Street after street, ears bright to bass and tune
of two thudding feet, gradients of breathing. But rain

is brooding. Sparse headlights, ambient drone
of cars kissing tarmac, merging

read more

Oliver Comins

Working the land on good days, after Easter,
people would hear the breaks occur at school,
children calling as they ran into the playground,
familiar skipping rhymes rising from the babble.

read more

Recent Prose

Rebecca Parfitt

And when the snake finished, the cow turned and licked the snake’s head, tender, like a mother to
her newborn. The snake slipped away, disappeared into the undergrowth.

Tim Kiely

If J.M. Spugg inspired anything like admiration or fellow-feeling, it was among people who had never actually interacted with J.M. Spugg.

Rida Jaleel

On my fourth birthday, my grandfather and I lowered a mango sapling into the ground together, his large loamy palms covering mine. This summer, when we sliced them open—mangoes the color of marigolds—I couldn’t get over the fact that this moment wouldn’t exist if I didn’t. That without really knowing, my grandfather had written me into the red-brick house’s legacy.

Cliff McNish

Heaven For starters, the standard works everyone gets: three trumpets blown in unison; your name acclaimed to the galactic hegemony of stars; plus assorted angels with ceramically smooth hands (the nail-work!) casting wholesale quantities of petals...

Jesse Keng Sum Lee

Lloyd is dressed like a candy bar in an all-too-bright gas station. Gleaming red tracksuit,
brand name under the sternum like a label.

Recent Haiku

Clare Bryden

how do I begin?

R.C. Thomas

The Universe dreamed I’d come to its restaurant. I needed to pass the time before my train home.

Anthony Lusardi

the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting.

Chen-ou Liu

snow crystals
on my neighbor’s windows …
Foreclosure askew

& more

Shasta Hatter

Empty Basket

Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery.

News

Word & Image

Jonathan Edis

Jonathan Edis

The Days of Our Girls

I can’t look
at you
or make my peace
with you now
but you are…

read more

Special Word & Image

Kayleigh Jayshree

Kayleigh Jayshree

The Moth Poem

She sees the little lost one everywhere,
eyes on the dead moths curled on her windowsill…

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

April Fool’s Day Greetings, from IS&T!

This is quite a good
bowl of roses
if the hostess wish

Pat Edwards

He is in white-out, stopped in his tracks,
dying for the comfort of a fag.
He makes a chalice around the flame,
hands becoming shield so he can light up.

Pamilerin Jacob

Annette the gap-toothed,
You kissed a man & I was born. You gave him
your laughter & he built an empire,

Fatihah Quadri Eniola

There is an album of all the men
your mother have loved. It sits every
night in the deep silence of the
basement.

Nathan Evans

If they ask where I am, tell them: I am
wintering. I have secreted small acorns
of sadness in crevices of gnarled limbs
and shall be savouring their bitternesses
on the back of my tongue until the days
lengthen.

News

Word & Image

Jonathan Edis

Jonathan Edis

The Days of Our Girls

I can’t look
at you
or make my peace
with you now
but you are…

read more

Special Word & Image

Kayleigh Jayshree

Kayleigh Jayshree

The Moth Poem

She sees the little lost one everywhere,
eyes on the dead moths curled on her windowsill…

read more

Previously featured

Julian Dobson

Street after street, ears bright to bass and tune
of two thudding feet, gradients of breathing. But rain

is brooding. Sparse headlights, ambient drone
of cars kissing tarmac, merging

read more

Oliver Comins

Working the land on good days, after Easter,
people would hear the breaks occur at school,
children calling as they ran into the playground,
familiar skipping rhymes rising from the babble.

read more

Recent Prose

Rebecca Parfitt

And when the snake finished, the cow turned and licked the snake’s head, tender, like a mother to
her newborn. The snake slipped away, disappeared into the undergrowth.

Tim Kiely

If J.M. Spugg inspired anything like admiration or fellow-feeling, it was among people who had never actually interacted with J.M. Spugg.

Rida Jaleel

On my fourth birthday, my grandfather and I lowered a mango sapling into the ground together, his large loamy palms covering mine. This summer, when we sliced them open—mangoes the color of marigolds—I couldn’t get over the fact that this moment wouldn’t exist if I didn’t. That without really knowing, my grandfather had written me into the red-brick house’s legacy.

Cliff McNish

Heaven For starters, the standard works everyone gets: three trumpets blown in unison; your name acclaimed to the galactic hegemony of stars; plus assorted angels with ceramically smooth hands (the nail-work!) casting wholesale quantities of petals...

Jesse Keng Sum Lee

Lloyd is dressed like a candy bar in an all-too-bright gas station. Gleaming red tracksuit,
brand name under the sternum like a label.

Recent Haiku

Clare Bryden

how do I begin?

R.C. Thomas

The Universe dreamed I’d come to its restaurant. I needed to pass the time before my train home.

Anthony Lusardi

the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting.

Chen-ou Liu

snow crystals
on my neighbor’s windows …
Foreclosure askew

& more

Shasta Hatter

Empty Basket

Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery.

Picks of the Month

Reviews