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.

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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Eve Chancellor

    Payday Mid-afternoon and the streets smell of petrichor; people spilling out of pubs, crowding to smoke fags in the early spring sunshine. I am alone, again. All my friends live thousands of miles away. I am closer to the people who are not near me geographically. What a bittersweet irony. Time slips away from me. I’ve been reading The Iliad lately. The way Patroclus slashed his away across the battlefield, before his armour was ripped off his back by Apollo. The gods decide everything. He thought he stood a fighting chance, as if human beings are capable of changing anything. I think we are, in our own endearing little ways. We want to crash and burn, like heroes glittering in bronze. We know our time on this planet is so limited, so fleeting, anyway.     Eve Chancellor is an English Teacher in Manchester. Her poems have been published online and in multiple literary magazines, including: Acropolis Journal, Dream Catcher, Hyacinth Review and Seaside Gothic....

Fiona Heatlie

  Planet Nine You talk to me intently of black holes. I slip my hand into yours, unnoticed. You are absorbed in thoughts astronomical. I am stealing time. Swallowed by a constellation of brighter stars and suddenly you are on the cusp of the cusp of a place where I cannot follow. Unstoppable, these forces that crush galaxies, make nebulae collide, tear photon from photon, hand from hand.     Shortlisted in the Glasgow Women’s Library CalmSlam in 2021, Fiona Heatlie's work has subsequently been published in a number of anthologies and journals, including by Poetry Scotland, Dreich, Acid Bath Publishing, and Green Ink Poetry. She shares her work on Instagram @fionaheatliepoetry

Hongwei Bao

    Night Market   When the night curtain falls, the crowd start to assemble as if drawn by magnets, as if answering a scared call. Neon lights go up along the narrow pavements, illuminating the concentrating faces of food-sellers. Under boiling noodle pots and roasting lamb skewers, grey charcoal gives off a warm, red glow. Above it, food aroma lingers in the sticky air. Next to the stalls people sit around in twos and threes. Their hands are waving, and their faces are turning red. As food and alcohol slide down into the stomach. Laughter becomes as strong as the rice wine they drink. Late into the night, the stalls are busy as ever. The clock hands slow down and happiness is stretched thin and long.     Hongwei Bao grew up in China and lives in Nottingham, UK. He uses short stories, poems and essays to explore queer desire, Asian identity, diasporic positionality and transcultural intimacy.

Michael Shann

Early March, after weeks of rain:
between a young oak’s leggy roots,
a cushion of dun, desiccated leaves.

Darren Deeks

You have been burgled.
While you were out with the dog,
a burglar made best use of that
yawning kitchen keyhole to spook
through tracelessly

Previously featured

Darren Deeks

You have been burgled.
While you were out with the dog,
a burglar made best use of that
yawning kitchen keyhole to spook
through tracelessly

read more

Recent Prose

Theo Stone

Into the Hills

. . . Every day he would wake up and rearrange his sense of self, renew his memories of the world before, and head back into routine in order to make the next paycheck. . .

From the Archives: Chaucer Cameron on Halloween

Sunday afternoon there’s always roast dinner. Then mum and dad go to church. The twins stay and wash dishes. Elder-twin picks up a plastic bag with unused Brussels sprouts inside. The cellar door is open.

Arthur Mandal

      Childhood’s Cave The worst times were Thursdays. They were the weekly meetings, when things were assigned, calculated, declared. A reprimand or an insult always brought her father home in the worst of moods. Her mother, on...

Bethany W Pope

      A Martian Named Smith A hard, cold wisdom is required for goodness to accomplish good. Goodness without wisdom always accomplishes evil. -Robert Heinlein The last time we spoke, you were working for an off-brand convenience...

Daniel Addercouth

      Two Halves You won’t want to take the locket, but your twin sister Agnes will insist, pressing it into your hand as she stands on the doorstep of your cottage, unwilling to enter. You’re supposed to take turns looking after it,...

Recent Haiku

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.

Jayant Kashyap

We are in the bath, your hands
around my back, mine around yours—
everything covered in a fog.

Short Poems Feature III

as a child, I learn to eat words

fill me up with words
brittle like sugared almonds
they crunch in my bones

Amaleena Damlé

Short Poems Feature I

Our first Short Poems Feature with poetry from Sylvie Jane Lewis and Joanna Woznicka.

News

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Eve Chancellor

    Payday Mid-afternoon and the streets smell of petrichor; people spilling out of pubs, crowding to smoke fags in the early spring sunshine. I am alone, again. All my friends live thousands of miles away. I am closer to the people who are not near me geographically. What a bittersweet irony. Time slips away from me. I’ve been reading The Iliad lately. The way Patroclus slashed his away across the battlefield, before his armour was ripped off his back by Apollo. The gods decide everything. He thought he stood a fighting chance, as if human beings are capable of changing anything. I think we are, in our own endearing little ways. We want to crash and burn, like heroes glittering in bronze. We know our time on this planet is so limited, so fleeting, anyway.     Eve Chancellor is an English Teacher in Manchester. Her poems have been published online and in multiple literary magazines, including: Acropolis Journal, Dream Catcher, Hyacinth Review and Seaside Gothic....

Fiona Heatlie

  Planet Nine You talk to me intently of black holes. I slip my hand into yours, unnoticed. You are absorbed in thoughts astronomical. I am stealing time. Swallowed by a constellation of brighter stars and suddenly you are on the cusp of the cusp of a place where I cannot follow. Unstoppable, these forces that crush galaxies, make nebulae collide, tear photon from photon, hand from hand.     Shortlisted in the Glasgow Women’s Library CalmSlam in 2021, Fiona Heatlie's work has subsequently been published in a number of anthologies and journals, including by Poetry Scotland, Dreich, Acid Bath Publishing, and Green Ink Poetry. She shares her work on Instagram @fionaheatliepoetry

Hongwei Bao

    Night Market   When the night curtain falls, the crowd start to assemble as if drawn by magnets, as if answering a scared call. Neon lights go up along the narrow pavements, illuminating the concentrating faces of food-sellers. Under boiling noodle pots and roasting lamb skewers, grey charcoal gives off a warm, red glow. Above it, food aroma lingers in the sticky air. Next to the stalls people sit around in twos and threes. Their hands are waving, and their faces are turning red. As food and alcohol slide down into the stomach. Laughter becomes as strong as the rice wine they drink. Late into the night, the stalls are busy as ever. The clock hands slow down and happiness is stretched thin and long.     Hongwei Bao grew up in China and lives in Nottingham, UK. He uses short stories, poems and essays to explore queer desire, Asian identity, diasporic positionality and transcultural intimacy.

Michael Shann

Early March, after weeks of rain:
between a young oak’s leggy roots,
a cushion of dun, desiccated leaves.

Darren Deeks

You have been burgled.
While you were out with the dog,
a burglar made best use of that
yawning kitchen keyhole to spook
through tracelessly

News

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Previously featured

Darren Deeks

You have been burgled.
While you were out with the dog,
a burglar made best use of that
yawning kitchen keyhole to spook
through tracelessly

read more

Recent Prose

Theo Stone

Into the Hills

. . . Every day he would wake up and rearrange his sense of self, renew his memories of the world before, and head back into routine in order to make the next paycheck. . .

From the Archives: Chaucer Cameron on Halloween

Sunday afternoon there’s always roast dinner. Then mum and dad go to church. The twins stay and wash dishes. Elder-twin picks up a plastic bag with unused Brussels sprouts inside. The cellar door is open.

Arthur Mandal

      Childhood’s Cave The worst times were Thursdays. They were the weekly meetings, when things were assigned, calculated, declared. A reprimand or an insult always brought her father home in the worst of moods. Her mother, on...

Bethany W Pope

      A Martian Named Smith A hard, cold wisdom is required for goodness to accomplish good. Goodness without wisdom always accomplishes evil. -Robert Heinlein The last time we spoke, you were working for an off-brand convenience...

Daniel Addercouth

      Two Halves You won’t want to take the locket, but your twin sister Agnes will insist, pressing it into your hand as she stands on the doorstep of your cottage, unwilling to enter. You’re supposed to take turns looking after it,...

Recent Haiku

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.

Jayant Kashyap

We are in the bath, your hands
around my back, mine around yours—
everything covered in a fog.

Short Poems Feature III

as a child, I learn to eat words

fill me up with words
brittle like sugared almonds
they crunch in my bones

Amaleena Damlé

Short Poems Feature I

Our first Short Poems Feature with poetry from Sylvie Jane Lewis and Joanna Woznicka.

Reviews