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

Maggie Mackay

The teacher is an old spindly man. Grim, out of a Grimm’s tale. Scarecrow hair, thinning. Unsmiling.

Natasha Gauthier

The tawny clutch appeared

on high-heeled evenings only,

slept in a nest of white tissue.

Romy Morreo

She only speaks to me these days
through groaning floorboards in the night
and slammed doors.

Emma Simon

No-one has seen a ghost while breast-feeding
despite the unearthly hours, the half-light

mad sing-song routines of rocking a child
back to sleep.

Kushal Poddar

The furniture covered in once
transparent now foggy sheets
craft the room a morgue, and we
identity the bodies

Previously featured

Recent Prose

Cliff McNish

Heaven For starters, the standard works everyone gets: three trumpets blown in unison; your name acclaimed to the galactic hegemony of stars; plus assorted angels with ceramically smooth hands (the nail-work!) casting wholesale quantities of petals...

Jesse Keng Sum Lee

Lloyd is dressed like a candy bar in an all-too-bright gas station. Gleaming red tracksuit,
brand name under the sternum like a label.

Kapka Nilan

When she left, the winds picked up and the bloated sun filled the horizon with fire, the sky turning ochre. She hurried in the heat, leaving behind what she called a tribe, not a homeland.

Jude Mason

I have compiled an incomplete list of the small and many forms of sadness that can be experienced by humans. The sadness of cracking the spine of a new book. The sadness of odd socks. The sadness of attempting to pet a cat, but the cat does not wish to be petted.

Fokkina McDonnell

I begged my boss to let me do the interview with the fire historian. I have form, I told him.

Recent Haiku

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.

Chen-ou Liu

snow crystals
on my neighbor’s windows …
Foreclosure askew

& more

Shasta Hatter

Empty Basket

Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery.

Jayant Kashyap

We are in the bath, your hands
around my back, mine around yours—
everything covered in a fog.

News

Welcome Sofía Masondo, our New Editing Intern

Welcome Sofía Masondo, our New Editing Intern

Sofía Masondo is a poet and theatre-maker of Argentine heritage based in London. Her work often explores themes of connection and disconnection between people, place and culture, taking inspiration across different art forms and from an intercultural upbringing.

read more

Word & Image

Jonathan Edis

Jonathan Edis

Beware the Phantom Limbo Dancer

beware
the phantom limbo dancer
who steals in unawares

read more

Filmpoems

Ilias Tsagas

Ilias Tsagas

Free

A yellow patch against the cement of the yard
his beautiful song
the surprise visit
of an escaped bird.

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Maggie Mackay

The teacher is an old spindly man. Grim, out of a Grimm’s tale. Scarecrow hair, thinning. Unsmiling.

Natasha Gauthier

The tawny clutch appeared

on high-heeled evenings only,

slept in a nest of white tissue.

Romy Morreo

She only speaks to me these days
through groaning floorboards in the night
and slammed doors.

Emma Simon

No-one has seen a ghost while breast-feeding
despite the unearthly hours, the half-light

mad sing-song routines of rocking a child
back to sleep.

Kushal Poddar

The furniture covered in once
transparent now foggy sheets
craft the room a morgue, and we
identity the bodies

News

Welcome Sofía Masondo, our New Editing Intern

Welcome Sofía Masondo, our New Editing Intern

Sofía Masondo is a poet and theatre-maker of Argentine heritage based in London. Her work often explores themes of connection and disconnection between people, place and culture, taking inspiration across different art forms and from an intercultural upbringing.

read more

Word & Image

Jonathan Edis

Jonathan Edis

Beware the Phantom Limbo Dancer

beware
the phantom limbo dancer
who steals in unawares

read more

Filmpoems

Ilias Tsagas

Ilias Tsagas

Free

A yellow patch against the cement of the yard
his beautiful song
the surprise visit
of an escaped bird.

read more

Previously featured

Recent Prose

Cliff McNish

Heaven For starters, the standard works everyone gets: three trumpets blown in unison; your name acclaimed to the galactic hegemony of stars; plus assorted angels with ceramically smooth hands (the nail-work!) casting wholesale quantities of petals...

Jesse Keng Sum Lee

Lloyd is dressed like a candy bar in an all-too-bright gas station. Gleaming red tracksuit,
brand name under the sternum like a label.

Kapka Nilan

When she left, the winds picked up and the bloated sun filled the horizon with fire, the sky turning ochre. She hurried in the heat, leaving behind what she called a tribe, not a homeland.

Jude Mason

I have compiled an incomplete list of the small and many forms of sadness that can be experienced by humans. The sadness of cracking the spine of a new book. The sadness of odd socks. The sadness of attempting to pet a cat, but the cat does not wish to be petted.

Fokkina McDonnell

I begged my boss to let me do the interview with the fire historian. I have form, I told him.

Recent Haiku

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.

Chen-ou Liu

snow crystals
on my neighbor’s windows …
Foreclosure askew

& more

Shasta Hatter

Empty Basket

Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery.

Jayant Kashyap

We are in the bath, your hands
around my back, mine around yours—
everything covered in a fog.

Picks of the Month

Reviews