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.

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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Linda McKenna

by | June 24, 2026 | Featured, Poetry | 0 Comments

We set about him with rifle butts and spades,
waiting our turn alongside our enemies,
the same sunburnt flesh, the same blistered
feet. Met where our camps, the same

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Abigail Ottley

by | June 23, 2026 | Featured, Poetry | 0 Comments

    She remembers the house of her husband He’s not, as they said he is: loathsome, most monstrous. He has a strange and sinister beauty. His eyes are obsidian, shot through with gold, a ruby burning in each. A noble brow, and magnificent cheekbones. You can imagine them chiselled in marble: sharp and high, clean as my kitchen, glinting with the promise of new knives. He calls me his queen but, wherever I go, his panopticon gaze is upon me. I can feel  his attention on my naked shoulder: his gaze sears my flesh like a brand. We hardly ever go out. He prefers to stay home. He isn’t popular at parties. I have thought sometimes a little soiree might be pleasant; but how would that even be possible? He emanates a strangeness that people recoil from; they can’t bring themselves to utter his name. He has many brave epithets: The Hospitable One, The Receiver, The Host of Many Guests. Some more  foolhardy souls, those with not much left to lose, like to call him The Rat in the Hat....
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Frank Phelan

by | June 22, 2026 | Featured, Poetry | 0 Comments

I am most visceral
when being disarmed
by a song, a lyric
written and sung…
in the broad New Yawk vowels

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Joseph Marcel Ikhenoba on Father’s Day

by | June 21, 2026 | Featured, Prose | 0 Comments

My father died with all his keys still on the ring. House key. Padlock key. The tiny brass one for the old suitcase he never opened. Office key for a job he left in 2002. A car key for a Toyota that rusted behind the house.

Read More

Katherine Duffy

by | June 20, 2026 | Featured, Poetry | 0 Comments

The ferry pushes the sea,
forces a long, white reply
that speaks of where we’ve been

Read More

Previously featured

Jenny Pagdin

by | Sep 21, 2022

      Before the market town with the Pepper Pot building and the concrete bus station and its standing water, we were Hampshire, Beirut and Freetown with neat shelves of Vimto, ivory, Milupa, of Milton, tie-dyes, pink almonds and sugarcane. I picture...

read more

John Grey

by | Sep 20, 2022

      In the Line Up It's beginning to rain. Just drizzle now but who knows what that portends. And there's no shelter. But at least we're moving, slowly to be sure, but forward. "What's this line for?" I ask the guy in front of me. Not that I'm curious...

read more

Recent Prose

Joseph Marcel Ikhenoba on Father’s Day

My father died with all his keys still on the ring. House key. Padlock key. The tiny brass one for the old suitcase he never opened. Office key for a job he left in 2002. A car key for a Toyota that rusted behind the house.

Read More

Robert A. Cozzi

How’s “James Dean” doing? I had a feeling our little stunt would work. I knew the second he saw us kiss, he’d come running back to you (you’re welcome, by the way). It’s kind of sweet how much effort he puts into that rebel-without-a-cause look.

Read More

Cath Holland

The entry fee for the jumble sale at the homeless mission costs 20 pence or a pair of men’s jeans. I don’t have a pair of jeans with me would you believe. My quiet piece of silver plinks into the plastic bucket, and I reflect what you can’t get for 20 pence these days.

Read More

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.

Read More

Joel Shelley

Dr Summers presses the ignition and the machine whirs to life.

Read More

Recent Haiku

Roger Robinson

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

Read More

Wayne F. Burke

faces on a school bus:
petals of flowers
unopened

Read More

Debbie Strange

midnight sun
a polar bear’s breath
catches fire

Read More

Debbie Strange

winterberry
the first holiday
alone

Read More

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

Read More

News

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Word & Image

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Filmpoems

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Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Linda McKenna

by | June 24, 2026 | Featured, Poetry | 0 Comments

We set about him with rifle butts and spades,
waiting our turn alongside our enemies,
the same sunburnt flesh, the same blistered
feet. Met where our camps, the same

Read More

Abigail Ottley

by | June 23, 2026 | Featured, Poetry | 0 Comments

    She remembers the house of her husband He’s not, as they said he is: loathsome, most monstrous. He has a strange and sinister beauty. His eyes are obsidian, shot through with gold, a ruby burning in each. A noble brow, and magnificent cheekbones. You can imagine them chiselled in marble: sharp and high, clean as my kitchen, glinting with the promise of new knives. He calls me his queen but, wherever I go, his panopticon gaze is upon me. I can feel  his attention on my naked shoulder: his gaze sears my flesh like a brand. We hardly ever go out. He prefers to stay home. He isn’t popular at parties. I have thought sometimes a little soiree might be pleasant; but how would that even be possible? He emanates a strangeness that people recoil from; they can’t bring themselves to utter his name. He has many brave epithets: The Hospitable One, The Receiver, The Host of Many Guests. Some more  foolhardy souls, those with not much left to lose, like to call him The Rat in the Hat....
Read More

Frank Phelan

by | June 22, 2026 | Featured, Poetry | 0 Comments

I am most visceral
when being disarmed
by a song, a lyric
written and sung…
in the broad New Yawk vowels

Read More

Joseph Marcel Ikhenoba on Father’s Day

by | June 21, 2026 | Featured, Prose | 0 Comments

My father died with all his keys still on the ring. House key. Padlock key. The tiny brass one for the old suitcase he never opened. Office key for a job he left in 2002. A car key for a Toyota that rusted behind the house.

Read More

Katherine Duffy

by | June 20, 2026 | Featured, Poetry | 0 Comments

The ferry pushes the sea,
forces a long, white reply
that speaks of where we’ve been

Read More

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

Jenny Pagdin

by | Sep 21, 2022

      Before the market town with the Pepper Pot building and the concrete bus station and its standing water, we were Hampshire, Beirut and Freetown with neat shelves of Vimto, ivory, Milupa, of Milton, tie-dyes, pink almonds and sugarcane. I picture...

read more

John Grey

by | Sep 20, 2022

      In the Line Up It's beginning to rain. Just drizzle now but who knows what that portends. And there's no shelter. But at least we're moving, slowly to be sure, but forward. "What's this line for?" I ask the guy in front of me. Not that I'm curious...

read more

Recent Prose

Joseph Marcel Ikhenoba on Father’s Day

My father died with all his keys still on the ring. House key. Padlock key. The tiny brass one for the old suitcase he never opened. Office key for a job he left in 2002. A car key for a Toyota that rusted behind the house.

Read More

Robert A. Cozzi

How’s “James Dean” doing? I had a feeling our little stunt would work. I knew the second he saw us kiss, he’d come running back to you (you’re welcome, by the way). It’s kind of sweet how much effort he puts into that rebel-without-a-cause look.

Read More

Cath Holland

The entry fee for the jumble sale at the homeless mission costs 20 pence or a pair of men’s jeans. I don’t have a pair of jeans with me would you believe. My quiet piece of silver plinks into the plastic bucket, and I reflect what you can’t get for 20 pence these days.

Read More

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.

Read More

Joel Shelley

Dr Summers presses the ignition and the machine whirs to life.

Read More

Recent Haiku

Roger Robinson

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

Read More

Wayne F. Burke

faces on a school bus:
petals of flowers
unopened

Read More

Debbie Strange

midnight sun
a polar bear’s breath
catches fire

Read More

Debbie Strange

winterberry
the first holiday
alone

Read More

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

Read More

Picks of the Month

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Reviews

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