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

Jeff Skinner

Can’t hear yourself think only the bass line
of a heart thumping. Your head’s clamped.

Chalice Am Bergris

It is not like an egg cracking
or an exquisite shiver of shattered glass.

Piers Haben

When I lost loved ones last year
I thought my childhood fears would return.

Kenneth Pobo

An angry grandmother isn’t sure who she’s angry with.  Everybody, nobody.  Though she prefers to wear black, she casts a spell that turns people orange.

Patrick Zimmermann on National Flash Fiction Day

An Old Peculiar is slid back on the table. She returns to her book. The room is still. Outside night falls. This is her evening.

Previously featured

Lesley Burt

There’s a house in a suburb of between-the-wars pebble-dash & bay windows, where the soundtrack is sighs, tuts & bellows, the clash of plates & jangle of cutlery.

read more

Recent Prose

Robert A. Cozzi

How’s “James Dean” doing? I had a feeling our little stunt would work. I knew the second he saw us kiss, he’d come running back to you (you’re welcome, by the way). It’s kind of sweet how much effort he puts into that rebel-without-a-cause look.

Cath Holland

The entry fee for the jumble sale at the homeless mission costs 20 pence or a pair of men’s jeans. I don’t have a pair of jeans with me would you believe. My quiet piece of silver plinks into the plastic bucket, and I reflect what you can’t get for 20 pence these days.

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.

Recent Haiku

Roger Robinson

We walk from cane fields,
cotton in our nightshirts, sweet

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

News

Word & Image

S. Reeson

S. Reeson

WHAT IS A RISK ASSESSMENT?
an organized procedure / distinguishing jeopardy / appraising connected dangers

read more

Filmpoems

Angela Yausheva

Angela Yausheva

In the aftermath
When the dust is settled and silence restored
I can still hear your melody and recite each conversation word for word

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Jeff Skinner

Can’t hear yourself think only the bass line
of a heart thumping. Your head’s clamped.

Chalice Am Bergris

It is not like an egg cracking
or an exquisite shiver of shattered glass.

Piers Haben

When I lost loved ones last year
I thought my childhood fears would return.

Kenneth Pobo

An angry grandmother isn’t sure who she’s angry with.  Everybody, nobody.  Though she prefers to wear black, she casts a spell that turns people orange.

Patrick Zimmermann on National Flash Fiction Day

An Old Peculiar is slid back on the table. She returns to her book. The room is still. Outside night falls. This is her evening.

News

Word & Image

S. Reeson

S. Reeson

WHAT IS A RISK ASSESSMENT?
an organized procedure / distinguishing jeopardy / appraising connected dangers

read more

Filmpoems

Angela Yausheva

Angela Yausheva

In the aftermath
When the dust is settled and silence restored
I can still hear your melody and recite each conversation word for word

read more

Previously featured

Lesley Burt

There’s a house in a suburb of between-the-wars pebble-dash & bay windows, where the soundtrack is sighs, tuts & bellows, the clash of plates & jangle of cutlery.

read more

Recent Prose

Robert A. Cozzi

How’s “James Dean” doing? I had a feeling our little stunt would work. I knew the second he saw us kiss, he’d come running back to you (you’re welcome, by the way). It’s kind of sweet how much effort he puts into that rebel-without-a-cause look.

Cath Holland

The entry fee for the jumble sale at the homeless mission costs 20 pence or a pair of men’s jeans. I don’t have a pair of jeans with me would you believe. My quiet piece of silver plinks into the plastic bucket, and I reflect what you can’t get for 20 pence these days.

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.

Recent Haiku

Roger Robinson

We walk from cane fields,
cotton in our nightshirts, sweet

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

Picks of the Month

Reviews

Zain Rishi on Meredith MacLeod Davidson

Zain Rishi on Meredith MacLeod Davidson

From the opening poem of Meredith MacLeod Davidson’s transpiration, we find ourselves in a landscape haunted by cycles of loss. ‘Anchorless / a boat bangs against sea-weathered pylons,’ and this same lack of purpose and the inevitably of decay is infused throughout the imagery of “Deltaville”.

read more
Shannon Clinton-Copeland on Lewis Buxton

Shannon Clinton-Copeland on Lewis Buxton

“Every poem in Mate Arias is a supporting column in the architecture of a tenderly rendered pantheon to friendship and the myriad forms of platonic love, particularly between men. The pamphlet is made up of twenty-three sonnets, each a vignette of affection, contemplation and memory.”

read more
Chris Hardy on Quentin Cowdry

Chris Hardy on Quentin Cowdry

The poems are carefully structured in regular stanzas, with well-paced, rhythmical lines and deft use of enjambment. The various subjects and themes, which differentiate and unite the work, are built on close observation of the world, of nature and human experience, and how we relate to and respond to it.

read more