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

Anuradha Vijayakrishnan

      Brief moments of light We walked by that lake each evening, within an inch of holding hands. Tiny firefish rushed to water’s edge to taste the aftermath of our feet. Vagrant water hyacinth and lonely snakebirds listened as we talked and talked. Twilight gleamed gold in the arched skyline, maroon revolutions rippled in the future. We spun out reams of immaculate nights, glorious silken mornings, bales of delicate muslin longings. We were not young, were we? We were wily mermaids, valiant Siberian cranes crossing continents, jumpy pearlspot fish frolicking where the water was cold and frothy. Yodelling frogs readied for night’s chorus and dusky kingfishers waited for a final kill. We were brave herons living on tiny beakfuls of hope grabbed from deep. We walked graceful, wild, and free and the waters receded, knowing our loss.     Anuradha Vijayakrishnan is an Indian writer living in UAE. Her work has appeared in Kenyon Review, Magma, CVV2, The Madras...

Sinéad McClure

      When is the zombie apocalypse? I might not make it. March 13th, 2020; The ghosts of Sligo's cholera outbreak walk us to the Lidl store, lurch when they see the masked and ready murmur tightly across the specials. I buy bamboo coffee cups, breathe out, two metres. Whatsapp, March 20th, 2020; Video calls instil panic. You pour Malbec and tell me they've let you go. We dispel myths with each mouthful dwell on our wishes no-one we know will get it. Greenhouse, April 12th, 2020; I plant lettuce, onion and cabbage, place seed potatoes to chit fleetingly consider the aftermath, a few years respite before famine. I plant an entire tray in tomato seed—Moneymaker Walking, April 30th 2020; Charlotte Blake Thornley recounted grisly tales to Bram, one about a man delirious with the virus found along the roadside buried swiftly, his heart still beating. I splash into potholes trip along the rough edges of this road a tickle in my throat. Forest, May 18th, 2020; I need to walk...

Ofem Ubi

      and so it goes… two boys neck-deep in a boiling argument talking about which album is best Made In Lagos or A Better Time a man calls beer the devil’s urine you do not swallow poison and expect to blossom a boy regurgitates the faces of exes ruminating on Celine Dionic times one more heartbreak and his heart becomes a cold-room certain foundations turned children into lamp-holders how many more change-makers do we need? one boy thinks his life an adaptation of a Nollywood film doesn’t know which father turns river to search engine did you mean: Chijioke traumatic is the missing of an offspring till we meet to part no more or not the lab welcomes another cadaver girl holds masterclass with friends lecturing of how a boy’s body is a British accent: sharp like new born razor slicing everything it collides with a writer gets called sachet Shakespeare on Facebook the bird app is a warfront for a country Nigeria; sachet hell fire the synonym for a barbwire  ...

Jack Emsden

      In the form of a joke After Steven Wright I got a humidifier and a dehumidifier put them in the same room let them fight it out now my house is all shiny a confusion of moisture finding holes in the walls I watch the neighbours cooking eggs thoughtlessly walk up to strangers and scratch a penny on their hand as an act of blood-copper tenderness I feel like that all the time marching between the barricades like a weary insurrectionist I yearn indecisively for the furniture to be removed stepping shameful into the future we obey only the most facile rules measuring distance in misunderstandings piled like the bodies of ants there’s so much between us unspoken and loud as a flag if we’ve failed to communicate meaningfully it’s because sometimes I’m in parentheses while you’re italicised like rain     Jack Emsden was shortlisted for the Wolverhampton Literature Festival competition 2021, and was awarded 2nd place prize in the Verve Poetry Press Community...

Hannah Gordon

      Because a forest After Joe Cottonwood Because there’s a pandemic on and you should treat yourself to good air Because the height makes you look up and looking up feels good in your spine Because the air is fresh and you breath more consciously, downing each lungful slow and deep Because in Japan, therapists prescribe it for anxiety and sometimes we all walk to a place further than ourselves Because in forests you find the instinct of your ancestors and feel sheltered Because of the way the light flashes through the trees, taking up space for wonder, healing something ancient and feral in you     Hannah Gordon is a London Irish, queer poet, teacher and facilitator from Brent and a member of Malika’s Poetry Kitchen. She was a host of Spoken Word London and co-led their 2019 Anti-Hate festival. She is the founder and chief facilitator of Word Up’s Words Down writing group and was selected for the inaugural Mid-Career Poets program at the Roundhouse. Her...

Previously featured

Holly Conant

      Grooming My brain was full of hair that you wanted to brush, style like a dolly. Good dolly. You worked your way up to stroking it, as if I were fleshy, jellyfish tendrils, that I might sting you if I wasn’t ready. You gathered the threads of my...

read more

Jennie E. Owen

      I’m pulling my hair out again and I worry that this is how the children will remember me. As balls of tangled fluff, that roll lazily under the sofa, to snag later in the hoover.  Will they curse me every time they have to empty the bag?  Take it...

read more

Recent Prose

Michael Bloor on National Flash Fiction Day

      Stirring Ambition As they'd agreed that morning, the three old women met again at the crossroads on the heath, when the sun was sinking. They were beggars, clad in beggars' rags. War was once more in the land and beggars'...

Ella Dorman-Gajic

    Happiness is Free Wifi - After the billboard in Ealing Broadway shopping centre.   Contentment walks into a coffee shop, is offered super-speed free Happiness with her blueberry muffin, under 100 calories. ‘FUCK ME’, Contentment...

Robert Garnham

      Cutting Through The tea-light flames would dance as if a modernist ballet were being staged in each of the glass dishes from expensive supermarket puddings. He had dotted them around his ground floor flat, on various pieces of...

David Sapp

      Groundhog Bachelor and Drunk Ganders Before the art opening, over appetizers downtown, leisurely and expansively, my aunts Evelyn and Jane swapped stories availing the phrase “it’s true, it’s true” too frequently. According to...

Harry Wilding

    DIY with Biscuits The sound of the drill was not enough to completely drown out his voice. ‘Sure that’s in the right place?’ Gerry asked. I focussed on the screw disappearing into the wall. ‘Mary? You hear me? You sure that’s not too...

Recent Haiku

Cheng Tim Tim

    Hi, you. Mouth slightly open to the sight of dandelion: why’d you shove it in? Bitter lion teeth, breathtakingly ticklish, seed in a wrong bed.     Cheng Tim Tim is a teacher and a poet born in Hong Kong to a Hokkien family....

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...

Helen May Williams

    Winter solstice 2020   13/12/2020 dream haiku small hours of Sunday morning family’s little strength guarded for mourning   17/12/2020 still growing on old apple tree— mistletoe   21/12/2020 the peanut feeder disappears...

Kashiana Singh

5 Haiku Origami cradle songs on the drive home… my empty womb * my mother’s knitted sweaters- I unravel knots * tears- water raining into an empty cup * drifting snowflakes- I restore the fragile lace of my wedding veil * encounters- his world is...

Xan Nichols

Haiku in the hope of an easing of lockdown   Sunrise early May all flame and pale duck egg blue; Clouds of lilac grey Just before sunrise - a muted bloom of russet On the chilly ground Above the skyline blazing - the risen sun like a young god Tree...

News

Word & Image

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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Anuradha Vijayakrishnan

      Brief moments of light We walked by that lake each evening, within an inch of holding hands. Tiny firefish rushed to water’s edge to taste the aftermath of our feet. Vagrant water hyacinth and lonely snakebirds listened as we talked and talked. Twilight gleamed gold in the arched skyline, maroon revolutions rippled in the future. We spun out reams of immaculate nights, glorious silken mornings, bales of delicate muslin longings. We were not young, were we? We were wily mermaids, valiant Siberian cranes crossing continents, jumpy pearlspot fish frolicking where the water was cold and frothy. Yodelling frogs readied for night’s chorus and dusky kingfishers waited for a final kill. We were brave herons living on tiny beakfuls of hope grabbed from deep. We walked graceful, wild, and free and the waters receded, knowing our loss.     Anuradha Vijayakrishnan is an Indian writer living in UAE. Her work has appeared in Kenyon Review, Magma, CVV2, The Madras...

Sinéad McClure

      When is the zombie apocalypse? I might not make it. March 13th, 2020; The ghosts of Sligo's cholera outbreak walk us to the Lidl store, lurch when they see the masked and ready murmur tightly across the specials. I buy bamboo coffee cups, breathe out, two metres. Whatsapp, March 20th, 2020; Video calls instil panic. You pour Malbec and tell me they've let you go. We dispel myths with each mouthful dwell on our wishes no-one we know will get it. Greenhouse, April 12th, 2020; I plant lettuce, onion and cabbage, place seed potatoes to chit fleetingly consider the aftermath, a few years respite before famine. I plant an entire tray in tomato seed—Moneymaker Walking, April 30th 2020; Charlotte Blake Thornley recounted grisly tales to Bram, one about a man delirious with the virus found along the roadside buried swiftly, his heart still beating. I splash into potholes trip along the rough edges of this road a tickle in my throat. Forest, May 18th, 2020; I need to walk...

Ofem Ubi

      and so it goes… two boys neck-deep in a boiling argument talking about which album is best Made In Lagos or A Better Time a man calls beer the devil’s urine you do not swallow poison and expect to blossom a boy regurgitates the faces of exes ruminating on Celine Dionic times one more heartbreak and his heart becomes a cold-room certain foundations turned children into lamp-holders how many more change-makers do we need? one boy thinks his life an adaptation of a Nollywood film doesn’t know which father turns river to search engine did you mean: Chijioke traumatic is the missing of an offspring till we meet to part no more or not the lab welcomes another cadaver girl holds masterclass with friends lecturing of how a boy’s body is a British accent: sharp like new born razor slicing everything it collides with a writer gets called sachet Shakespeare on Facebook the bird app is a warfront for a country Nigeria; sachet hell fire the synonym for a barbwire  ...

Jack Emsden

      In the form of a joke After Steven Wright I got a humidifier and a dehumidifier put them in the same room let them fight it out now my house is all shiny a confusion of moisture finding holes in the walls I watch the neighbours cooking eggs thoughtlessly walk up to strangers and scratch a penny on their hand as an act of blood-copper tenderness I feel like that all the time marching between the barricades like a weary insurrectionist I yearn indecisively for the furniture to be removed stepping shameful into the future we obey only the most facile rules measuring distance in misunderstandings piled like the bodies of ants there’s so much between us unspoken and loud as a flag if we’ve failed to communicate meaningfully it’s because sometimes I’m in parentheses while you’re italicised like rain     Jack Emsden was shortlisted for the Wolverhampton Literature Festival competition 2021, and was awarded 2nd place prize in the Verve Poetry Press Community...

Hannah Gordon

      Because a forest After Joe Cottonwood Because there’s a pandemic on and you should treat yourself to good air Because the height makes you look up and looking up feels good in your spine Because the air is fresh and you breath more consciously, downing each lungful slow and deep Because in Japan, therapists prescribe it for anxiety and sometimes we all walk to a place further than ourselves Because in forests you find the instinct of your ancestors and feel sheltered Because of the way the light flashes through the trees, taking up space for wonder, healing something ancient and feral in you     Hannah Gordon is a London Irish, queer poet, teacher and facilitator from Brent and a member of Malika’s Poetry Kitchen. She was a host of Spoken Word London and co-led their 2019 Anti-Hate festival. She is the founder and chief facilitator of Word Up’s Words Down writing group and was selected for the inaugural Mid-Career Poets program at the Roundhouse. Her...

News

Word & Image

Video Channel

Previously featured

Holly Conant

      Grooming My brain was full of hair that you wanted to brush, style like a dolly. Good dolly. You worked your way up to stroking it, as if I were fleshy, jellyfish tendrils, that I might sting you if I wasn’t ready. You gathered the threads of my...

read more

Jennie E. Owen

      I’m pulling my hair out again and I worry that this is how the children will remember me. As balls of tangled fluff, that roll lazily under the sofa, to snag later in the hoover.  Will they curse me every time they have to empty the bag?  Take it...

read more

Recent Prose

Michael Bloor on National Flash Fiction Day

      Stirring Ambition As they'd agreed that morning, the three old women met again at the crossroads on the heath, when the sun was sinking. They were beggars, clad in beggars' rags. War was once more in the land and beggars'...

Ella Dorman-Gajic

    Happiness is Free Wifi - After the billboard in Ealing Broadway shopping centre.   Contentment walks into a coffee shop, is offered super-speed free Happiness with her blueberry muffin, under 100 calories. ‘FUCK ME’, Contentment...

Robert Garnham

      Cutting Through The tea-light flames would dance as if a modernist ballet were being staged in each of the glass dishes from expensive supermarket puddings. He had dotted them around his ground floor flat, on various pieces of...

David Sapp

      Groundhog Bachelor and Drunk Ganders Before the art opening, over appetizers downtown, leisurely and expansively, my aunts Evelyn and Jane swapped stories availing the phrase “it’s true, it’s true” too frequently. According to...

Harry Wilding

    DIY with Biscuits The sound of the drill was not enough to completely drown out his voice. ‘Sure that’s in the right place?’ Gerry asked. I focussed on the screw disappearing into the wall. ‘Mary? You hear me? You sure that’s not too...

Recent Haiku

Cheng Tim Tim

    Hi, you. Mouth slightly open to the sight of dandelion: why’d you shove it in? Bitter lion teeth, breathtakingly ticklish, seed in a wrong bed.     Cheng Tim Tim is a teacher and a poet born in Hong Kong to a Hokkien family....

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...

Helen May Williams

    Winter solstice 2020   13/12/2020 dream haiku small hours of Sunday morning family’s little strength guarded for mourning   17/12/2020 still growing on old apple tree— mistletoe   21/12/2020 the peanut feeder disappears...

Kashiana Singh

5 Haiku Origami cradle songs on the drive home… my empty womb * my mother’s knitted sweaters- I unravel knots * tears- water raining into an empty cup * drifting snowflakes- I restore the fragile lace of my wedding veil * encounters- his world is...

Xan Nichols

Haiku in the hope of an easing of lockdown   Sunrise early May all flame and pale duck egg blue; Clouds of lilac grey Just before sunrise - a muted bloom of russet On the chilly ground Above the skyline blazing - the risen sun like a young god Tree...

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