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

Ryan O’Neill

we hug and i act cool
as the american fridge ice
shattering on kitchen tiles

David Thompson

Scrolling through my inbox I hold down
the shift key, select all and mass delete
briefly feel the repose of the therapist’s couch.

Marcelle Newbold

Hope lies like the edge of a teaspoon, upward facing, a thickness
perhaps enough solidness to knife
through a banana or other soft fruit

Britta Giersche

a wooden door slams shut in my brain
a man perishes in a space the size of his grave from malnutrition eighty years ago

Abby Crawford

When I was born
the house was full
of stones, an old blacksmiths shed.

Previously featured

Rahma O. Jimoh

A bird skirts across the fence
& I rush to the window
to behold its flapping wings—
It’s been ages
since I last saw a bird.

read more

Samuel A. Adeyemi

I can already hear the chorus of my tribe.
They want the ancient blade,

the guillotine that hovered
above my head like a halo of death.

read more

Recent Prose

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.

Cheryl Snell

I am all hair, glittering with diamond-glass. A forehead streaked with blood, rubies and roses crisscrossing the tangerine flaps of a ripped collar.

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.

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

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Moira McPartlin

Moira McPartlin

Magnificence
For Spike Walker, Photomicrographer

What jewelled gifts are these,
spliced and stacked on platters
of smeared glass?
A universe of micro.

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Ryan O’Neill

we hug and i act cool
as the american fridge ice
shattering on kitchen tiles

David Thompson

Scrolling through my inbox I hold down
the shift key, select all and mass delete
briefly feel the repose of the therapist’s couch.

Marcelle Newbold

Hope lies like the edge of a teaspoon, upward facing, a thickness
perhaps enough solidness to knife
through a banana or other soft fruit

Britta Giersche

a wooden door slams shut in my brain
a man perishes in a space the size of his grave from malnutrition eighty years ago

Abby Crawford

When I was born
the house was full
of stones, an old blacksmiths shed.

News

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Moira McPartlin

Moira McPartlin

Magnificence
For Spike Walker, Photomicrographer

What jewelled gifts are these,
spliced and stacked on platters
of smeared glass?
A universe of micro.

read more

Previously featured

Rahma O. Jimoh

A bird skirts across the fence
& I rush to the window
to behold its flapping wings—
It’s been ages
since I last saw a bird.

read more

Samuel A. Adeyemi

I can already hear the chorus of my tribe.
They want the ancient blade,

the guillotine that hovered
above my head like a halo of death.

read more

Recent Prose

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.

Cheryl Snell

I am all hair, glittering with diamond-glass. A forehead streaked with blood, rubies and roses crisscrossing the tangerine flaps of a ripped collar.

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.

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.

Reviews