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

Jenny Hockey

Crouched above the stream he dug,
known by his kid-along brother
as the dry gulch, its circulation pump
rarely switched on

Hannah Coyle

Peach skin wrists,
Watch persists
Her through time
Suffusing.

Mike Anderton

The peach stone is in my pocket.
I keep rubbing it
while you talk about rain.

Hensley

Before the butcher touched bone, tendon, cartilage, hooks, scales, steel, he sat across from his wife with a blunt knife and waited for the butter to soften.

Anthony Lawrence

One had a ball of water that magnified the word shiver
on its cap, and one had been torn and thrown
against the wood, a soft bomb, leaving gills and skin.

Previously featured

John Barron

Thought Experiment
 
The clock has lost all its numbers.
I wake inside an Einstein thought experiment,
where my bones defy gravity and get sucked
what some call “up.” I’ve only time to grab
from beside the bed where we’re sleeping
our copy of Rovelli’s ‘Reality Is Not What It Seems’

read more

Mick Corrigan

My List Poem of the All-Important
 
Trish,
Kindness,
A small family of wildflowers announcing themselves in an abandoned pot,
Morning sun warming barley fields at Castletown House Estate,
A grounded fledgling glaring defiance as I gently inquire of her health,

read more

Recent Prose

Hensley

Before the butcher touched bone, tendon, cartilage, hooks, scales, steel, he sat across from his wife with a blunt knife and waited for the butter to soften.

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…

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

Jenny Hockey

Crouched above the stream he dug,
known by his kid-along brother
as the dry gulch, its circulation pump
rarely switched on

Hannah Coyle

Peach skin wrists,
Watch persists
Her through time
Suffusing.

Mike Anderton

The peach stone is in my pocket.
I keep rubbing it
while you talk about rain.

Hensley

Before the butcher touched bone, tendon, cartilage, hooks, scales, steel, he sat across from his wife with a blunt knife and waited for the butter to soften.

Anthony Lawrence

One had a ball of water that magnified the word shiver
on its cap, and one had been torn and thrown
against the wood, a soft bomb, leaving gills and skin.

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

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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.

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

John Barron

Thought Experiment
 
The clock has lost all its numbers.
I wake inside an Einstein thought experiment,
where my bones defy gravity and get sucked
what some call “up.” I’ve only time to grab
from beside the bed where we’re sleeping
our copy of Rovelli’s ‘Reality Is Not What It Seems’

read more

Mick Corrigan

My List Poem of the All-Important
 
Trish,
Kindness,
A small family of wildflowers announcing themselves in an abandoned pot,
Morning sun warming barley fields at Castletown House Estate,
A grounded fledgling glaring defiance as I gently inquire of her health,

read more

Recent Prose

Hensley

Before the butcher touched bone, tendon, cartilage, hooks, scales, steel, he sat across from his wife with a blunt knife and waited for the butter to soften.

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…

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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