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

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

On the Fourth Day of Christmas we bring you Adam Strickson, Rebecca Johnson Bista, Pat Edwards

Piero painted her in a week, after his mother died,
her azure gown split open like a ripe plum,
her posh girl fingers resting on the mystery,
all swollen belly and haloed radiance.

On the Third Day of Christmas we bring you Oliver Comins,  D.A.Prince, Beliz McKenzie

What does a tree make of Christmas glitter,
our mix of homemade stars and glassy birds,
drizzle of tinsel, and the radiators?

On the Second Day of Christmas we bring you Lucy A Kulwieć, Adam Elms, Maurice Devitt

It was when your hair fell like snow I found it again. No longer moon blonde, time had coppered the hair auburn. The garage is where your roots grow.

On the First Day of Christmas we bring you Sarah Mnatzaganian, Rebecca Gethin, Jenni Thorne

Towards the Solstice
owls fly closer in December twilight,
call to each other across the garden.

Previously featured

Annie Katchinska

      Prised Apart   I raise my arms and let them slump back down. Maybe they don’t belong to me. Our movements more exhausted, looser Did we show rage. Did we try for once to rest your hands on your hips, hold yourself like a good china cup chipped as...

read more

David Gilbert

    The Old Fishing Village The rain is a gauze. I could have slept in, but listen to gulls bothering the cruise ships. What more can rain throw at us? Joe’s boat slips out once a day for weather-beaten tourists who find us on old maps. The yellow houses on...

read more

Recent Prose

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.

Stephanie Aspin on ‘Why Words Help’ for Mental Health Awareness Week

Writing is both a way of making life more liveable and of making ourselves more whole. Words have a being-ness: when we write poetry, we tap into a network of resonances.

Recent Haiku

Debbie Strange

the first holiday   Debbie Strange is a chronically ill short-form poet and haiga artist whose work has been widely published internationally. Her haiku collection, Random Blue Sparks (Snapshot Press 2024), received 3rd Place in the Haiku...

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.

Chen-ou Liu

this fresh morning
so much like the others …
yet starlings shape-shift

Stephen C. Curro

calm river
again, his fishing line
caught on a tree

News

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Word & Image

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Filmpoems

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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

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

On the Fourth Day of Christmas we bring you Adam Strickson, Rebecca Johnson Bista, Pat Edwards

Piero painted her in a week, after his mother died,
her azure gown split open like a ripe plum,
her posh girl fingers resting on the mystery,
all swollen belly and haloed radiance.

On the Third Day of Christmas we bring you Oliver Comins,  D.A.Prince, Beliz McKenzie

What does a tree make of Christmas glitter,
our mix of homemade stars and glassy birds,
drizzle of tinsel, and the radiators?

On the Second Day of Christmas we bring you Lucy A Kulwieć, Adam Elms, Maurice Devitt

It was when your hair fell like snow I found it again. No longer moon blonde, time had coppered the hair auburn. The garage is where your roots grow.

On the First Day of Christmas we bring you Sarah Mnatzaganian, Rebecca Gethin, Jenni Thorne

Towards the Solstice
owls fly closer in December twilight,
call to each other across the garden.

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

Annie Katchinska

      Prised Apart   I raise my arms and let them slump back down. Maybe they don’t belong to me. Our movements more exhausted, looser Did we show rage. Did we try for once to rest your hands on your hips, hold yourself like a good china cup chipped as...

read more

David Gilbert

    The Old Fishing Village The rain is a gauze. I could have slept in, but listen to gulls bothering the cruise ships. What more can rain throw at us? Joe’s boat slips out once a day for weather-beaten tourists who find us on old maps. The yellow houses on...

read more

Recent Prose

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.

Stephanie Aspin on ‘Why Words Help’ for Mental Health Awareness Week

Writing is both a way of making life more liveable and of making ourselves more whole. Words have a being-ness: when we write poetry, we tap into a network of resonances.

Recent Haiku

Debbie Strange

the first holiday   Debbie Strange is a chronically ill short-form poet and haiga artist whose work has been widely published internationally. Her haiku collection, Random Blue Sparks (Snapshot Press 2024), received 3rd Place in the Haiku...

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.

Chen-ou Liu

this fresh morning
so much like the others …
yet starlings shape-shift

Stephen C. Curro

calm river
again, his fishing line
caught on a tree

Picks of the Month

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Reviews

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