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

Andrew Keyman

a day later you’re in l.a. picking out cars with the magic
only money can buy

Chrissy Banks

So many times I walked
head down   half asleep
along that ordinary road to school

Kate Horsley

The alien cries into my hair. I wonder if he remembers doing the things that put me in
hospital; his body caging mine against the bed until I couldn’t breathe.

Christopher M James

She’d had the two of us, had learnt
how children bury their riddles, how love

unearths them

Opeyemi Oluwayomi

They are piercing knife between
the city, detaching the body from the head,
& squeezing the blood out of the flesh,
so there can be an end to what hasn’t begun.

Previously featured

Meg Pokrass 

      The Forest This has something to do with the adoption of that unwanted animal, right there in the living room. Her husband watching telly, drinking beer, not looking at the animal dancing around. The animal gazing into her eyes, finding her...

read more

Noel King

      Burying the Husband As your hearse stretches the road we walk, trying to be respectful. My shoulders heave an ease at their freedom, my bruises will heal now there’ll be no fresh hits. Our feet turn, our bodies sideways themselves through the gap...

read more

Recent Prose

Sarah Thorne

The darkening sky skids past at sixty miles an hour. My eyes are keeping a vigil over the dead fringes of tarmac either side of the road as I drive . . .

Arlene Jackson

Hello Tamara, it’s lovely to hear your voice stretching out across the Atlantic, from your eco pod of wellness into my quiet space, where things are not so well today. But it is today. New and fresh.

Rebecca Parfitt

And when the snake finished, the cow turned and licked the snake’s head, tender, like a mother to
her newborn. The snake slipped away, disappeared into the undergrowth.

Tim Kiely

If J.M. Spugg inspired anything like admiration or fellow-feeling, it was among people who had never actually interacted with J.M. Spugg.

Rida Jaleel

On my fourth birthday, my grandfather and I lowered a mango sapling into the ground together, his large loamy palms covering mine. This summer, when we sliced them open—mangoes the color of marigolds—I couldn’t get over the fact that this moment wouldn’t exist if I didn’t. That without really knowing, my grandfather had written me into the red-brick house’s legacy.

Recent Haiku

Chen-ou Liu on International Haiku Poetry Day

end-of-day catch
our wicker basket full
of salmon sunset

Deborah Karl-Brandt

With every book I sell, with every piece of clothing I give away . . .

Clare Bryden

how do I begin?

R.C. Thomas

The Universe dreamed I’d come to its restaurant. I needed to pass the time before my train home.

Anthony Lusardi

the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting.

News

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Word & Image

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Filmpoems

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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Andrew Keyman

a day later you’re in l.a. picking out cars with the magic
only money can buy

Chrissy Banks

So many times I walked
head down   half asleep
along that ordinary road to school

Kate Horsley

The alien cries into my hair. I wonder if he remembers doing the things that put me in
hospital; his body caging mine against the bed until I couldn’t breathe.

Christopher M James

She’d had the two of us, had learnt
how children bury their riddles, how love

unearths them

Opeyemi Oluwayomi

They are piercing knife between
the city, detaching the body from the head,
& squeezing the blood out of the flesh,
so there can be an end to what hasn’t begun.

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

Meg Pokrass 

      The Forest This has something to do with the adoption of that unwanted animal, right there in the living room. Her husband watching telly, drinking beer, not looking at the animal dancing around. The animal gazing into her eyes, finding her...

read more

Noel King

      Burying the Husband As your hearse stretches the road we walk, trying to be respectful. My shoulders heave an ease at their freedom, my bruises will heal now there’ll be no fresh hits. Our feet turn, our bodies sideways themselves through the gap...

read more

Recent Prose

Sarah Thorne

The darkening sky skids past at sixty miles an hour. My eyes are keeping a vigil over the dead fringes of tarmac either side of the road as I drive . . .

Arlene Jackson

Hello Tamara, it’s lovely to hear your voice stretching out across the Atlantic, from your eco pod of wellness into my quiet space, where things are not so well today. But it is today. New and fresh.

Rebecca Parfitt

And when the snake finished, the cow turned and licked the snake’s head, tender, like a mother to
her newborn. The snake slipped away, disappeared into the undergrowth.

Tim Kiely

If J.M. Spugg inspired anything like admiration or fellow-feeling, it was among people who had never actually interacted with J.M. Spugg.

Rida Jaleel

On my fourth birthday, my grandfather and I lowered a mango sapling into the ground together, his large loamy palms covering mine. This summer, when we sliced them open—mangoes the color of marigolds—I couldn’t get over the fact that this moment wouldn’t exist if I didn’t. That without really knowing, my grandfather had written me into the red-brick house’s legacy.

Recent Haiku

Chen-ou Liu on International Haiku Poetry Day

end-of-day catch
our wicker basket full
of salmon sunset

Deborah Karl-Brandt

With every book I sell, with every piece of clothing I give away . . .

Clare Bryden

how do I begin?

R.C. Thomas

The Universe dreamed I’d come to its restaurant. I needed to pass the time before my train home.

Anthony Lusardi

the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting.

Picks of the Month

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Reviews

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