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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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Tess Jolly

When I went round the next day
with a bottle of wine, his wife said
he was bruised down both sides

Jenny Mitchell

There’s no one in the flat when I come home from school,
my dinner in the fridge – poison on a flowered plate,
covered with tin foil, surrounded by full shelves of poison.

Sarah James/Leavesley

The sister I don’t have
has pockets bulging
with silver-foiled chocolate

Andy Humphrey

On screen, Dad was
the radical –
 
the introverted
pen-and-notepad kind,

Nigel Pugh

Rain like it was Biblical. Sidewalk empty, just me and a happy drunk with the weather-hardened look of a rough sleeper sauntering down the hill from Victoria Station in my direction, shouting out his joy to the world.

Previously featured

Avaughan Watkins

and waves jumped like giddy children
onto the stones.
Jellyfish loomed, a cove of beached moons.
You stood in your room for hours
a rock pool
waiting for the sea to hold you

read more

Maggie Mackay

Daddy’s girl, always. Tea done, you fetch Glen’s lead and we climb the hill to the spread of The Links. We talk. It’s as if we have met in a previous life, the click – you, a pipe smoking fan of Bertrand Russell, always think, think, and think the eternal puzzles of existence. Our walks are adventures in language, in invention, a form of The Great Egg Race without eggs.

read more

Recent Prose

Nigel Pugh

Rain like it was Biblical. Sidewalk empty, just me and a happy drunk with the weather-hardened look of a rough sleeper sauntering down the hill from Victoria Station in my direction, shouting out his joy to the world.

Tracey Pearson

My bucket doesn’t have a list and it’s never been kicked.

Even on the really bad days when the mocking shine of its metal body has tempted my foot to make contact,

Hallie Oakwood

His phone pings; the morning sun glares. Kyle staggers to the bathroom mirror amidst empty bottles for inducing oblivion. Red-eyed and dishevelled, with stubble masking gray complexion and black hair in matted clumps; he checks his phone. Today’s date snipes him between the eyes: one hour till…

DS Maolalai

I’m in the spare bedroom/office.
Chrysty’s in a rotten bad mood.
she walks the apartment
like a donkey stable. kicks holes

Recent Haiku

Michiya

The second time something slips from his hand, he does not move right away. He studies the distance between intention and consequence. It looks smaller than it behaves.

Jason Ryberg 

Still Life of Fish and Bird

Alex Stolis

It’s 16 below zero. Actual temp. We’re sole owners of the shore, windchill pushes it down to minus 36.

Roger Robinson

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

News

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Word & Image

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Filmpoems

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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Tess Jolly

When I went round the next day
with a bottle of wine, his wife said
he was bruised down both sides

Jenny Mitchell

There’s no one in the flat when I come home from school,
my dinner in the fridge – poison on a flowered plate,
covered with tin foil, surrounded by full shelves of poison.

Sarah James/Leavesley

The sister I don’t have
has pockets bulging
with silver-foiled chocolate

Andy Humphrey

On screen, Dad was
the radical –
 
the introverted
pen-and-notepad kind,

Nigel Pugh

Rain like it was Biblical. Sidewalk empty, just me and a happy drunk with the weather-hardened look of a rough sleeper sauntering down the hill from Victoria Station in my direction, shouting out his joy to the world.

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

Avaughan Watkins

and waves jumped like giddy children
onto the stones.
Jellyfish loomed, a cove of beached moons.
You stood in your room for hours
a rock pool
waiting for the sea to hold you

read more

Maggie Mackay

Daddy’s girl, always. Tea done, you fetch Glen’s lead and we climb the hill to the spread of The Links. We talk. It’s as if we have met in a previous life, the click – you, a pipe smoking fan of Bertrand Russell, always think, think, and think the eternal puzzles of existence. Our walks are adventures in language, in invention, a form of The Great Egg Race without eggs.

read more

Recent Prose

Nigel Pugh

Rain like it was Biblical. Sidewalk empty, just me and a happy drunk with the weather-hardened look of a rough sleeper sauntering down the hill from Victoria Station in my direction, shouting out his joy to the world.

Tracey Pearson

My bucket doesn’t have a list and it’s never been kicked.

Even on the really bad days when the mocking shine of its metal body has tempted my foot to make contact,

Hallie Oakwood

His phone pings; the morning sun glares. Kyle staggers to the bathroom mirror amidst empty bottles for inducing oblivion. Red-eyed and dishevelled, with stubble masking gray complexion and black hair in matted clumps; he checks his phone. Today’s date snipes him between the eyes: one hour till…

DS Maolalai

I’m in the spare bedroom/office.
Chrysty’s in a rotten bad mood.
she walks the apartment
like a donkey stable. kicks holes

Recent Haiku

Michiya

The second time something slips from his hand, he does not move right away. He studies the distance between intention and consequence. It looks smaller than it behaves.

Jason Ryberg 

Still Life of Fish and Bird

Alex Stolis

It’s 16 below zero. Actual temp. We’re sole owners of the shore, windchill pushes it down to minus 36.

Roger Robinson

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

Picks of the Month

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Reviews

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