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.

IS&T Shop

Buy Ink Sweat & Tears Publishing books and pamphlets here.

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Peter Devonald 

He is bitterest regrets,
dark chocolate, olives and kale,
The Telegraph and Magritte’s
pipe, the treachery of images.

Anne Ryland

Restless two-hundred-year-old village elder,
a ragged playground of words, or is it weeds –
fragments of chant to slaps of skipping rope.

Colin Dardis

I have never climbed a tree,
never broken a bone
and will never walk on water.

May Garner

The house keeps score
in places no one checks any longer.

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.

Previously featured

Sarah James/Leavesley

      The Half-a-man The giant statue in the main square is weeping sky-blue and sun-yellow tears. Later, leaf-green, then blood-red…soon a technicolour dreamcoat’s worth of crying. Only, this is real. Overnight, the statue loses a leg, next, a finger,...

read more

Nina Parmenter

      I am Jealous of the Rain   smug smug rain has millennia to finish sculpting could take six lifetimes over the angle at the brink of a whorl smirking smug smug rain invites us to see its progress feels no need to grant us insight or god forbid ask...

read more

Recent Prose

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.

Paul Goodman

They approach in hungry morning light, treading the path to the ridge and the row of giant’s teeth grown crooked with the ages

Neil Weiner

Chad, an aspiring author, sank into his easy chair and drifted into a
reverie.

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

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

Word & Image

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

Filmpoems

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Peter Devonald 

He is bitterest regrets,
dark chocolate, olives and kale,
The Telegraph and Magritte’s
pipe, the treachery of images.

Anne Ryland

Restless two-hundred-year-old village elder,
a ragged playground of words, or is it weeds –
fragments of chant to slaps of skipping rope.

Colin Dardis

I have never climbed a tree,
never broken a bone
and will never walk on water.

May Garner

The house keeps score
in places no one checks any longer.

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.

News

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

Word & Image

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

Filmpoems

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

Previously featured

Sarah James/Leavesley

      The Half-a-man The giant statue in the main square is weeping sky-blue and sun-yellow tears. Later, leaf-green, then blood-red…soon a technicolour dreamcoat’s worth of crying. Only, this is real. Overnight, the statue loses a leg, next, a finger,...

read more

Nina Parmenter

      I am Jealous of the Rain   smug smug rain has millennia to finish sculpting could take six lifetimes over the angle at the brink of a whorl smirking smug smug rain invites us to see its progress feels no need to grant us insight or god forbid ask...

read more

Recent Prose

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.

Paul Goodman

They approach in hungry morning light, treading the path to the ridge and the row of giant’s teeth grown crooked with the ages

Neil Weiner

Chad, an aspiring author, sank into his easy chair and drifted into a
reverie.

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

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.

Reviews

No Results Found

The page you requested could not be found. Try refining your search, or use the navigation above to locate the post.