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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Buy Ink Sweat & Tears Publishing books and pamphlets here.

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

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.

Kevin Denwood

Name called.
Not mine.

Wasn’t I
here first?

L Kiew

I leave everything on shingle,
meet surf like a sibling,
crest over playful breakers
and chase the moon’s tail.

Margaret Baldock

We launched, lovingly
into dark and silky water
unknown yet benign.

Krishh Biswal

You did not ask for knees —
They found the floor themselves.
Not from command,
But gravity.

Previously featured

Recent Prose

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.

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.

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

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Sarah Raybould

Sarah Raybould

dad would take us sledging on the hills behind our house,

we’d ride the sleeping-slopes of           

/ round-back / giants, 

flushed with fever-thrill and 

when he capsized 

we        / lurched /      

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

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.

Kevin Denwood

Name called.
Not mine.

Wasn’t I
here first?

L Kiew

I leave everything on shingle,
meet surf like a sibling,
crest over playful breakers
and chase the moon’s tail.

Margaret Baldock

We launched, lovingly
into dark and silky water
unknown yet benign.

Krishh Biswal

You did not ask for knees —
They found the floor themselves.
Not from command,
But gravity.

News

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Sarah Raybould

Sarah Raybould

dad would take us sledging on the hills behind our house,

we’d ride the sleeping-slopes of           

/ round-back / giants, 

flushed with fever-thrill and 

when he capsized 

we        / lurched /      

read more

Previously featured

Recent Prose

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.

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.

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

Reviews