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

Lesley Curwen

    Valentia Light Lesley Curwen is a poet and broadcaster from Plymouth who often writes about coercive control. She won the Molecules Unlimited prize and was a finalist in the Wales Poetry Award. Her poems have been nominated for Forward and Pushcart Prizes. She can be found on @elcurwen.bsky.social and @elcurwen on instagram, and on facebook at  https://www.facebook.com/lesley.a.curwen. Her website is www.lesleycurwenpoet.com.

Antony Dunn

Have you heard the one about
how I’m hoping to bow out –
playing guitar for the Cure

Alex Scarborough

I measure distance in Spotify playlists
so I can’t be trusted with maps.

Myra Schneider

Forget the invisible network of servers which stores
and manages or mismanages data in the unending sky
far above our heads . . .

Sef

The body is not solid. The body is almost perfect.

Previously featured

Emily Barker

      Red-tailed black cockatoo (Ngoolyark) Kaarak, kaarak The red-tailed black cockatoos call from bleeding limbs of the blooming Marri. Chet, chet, chet, chet They peck the honkey nuts. Hard fruit falls to the boort and bilara of the djarlma floor....

read more

Julian Aiken

      The Drowning We slept that summer in the small house Bedded in a meadow of foxgloves and thistles, Just a cry from the ocean -- Everyone knew about the boy Dragged from the water onto the beach, His lungs pumped with kelp and fry -- You’d span the...

read more

Recent Prose

Jo Bardsley

The little piece of newspaper, crisp and dark with age, flutters out of the gritty space between the fridge and the cabinet. I am cleaning the house while my wife is at school and at first I don’t understand.

Paul Goodman

They approach in hungry morning light, treading the path to the ridge and the row of giant’s teeth grown crooked with the ages

Neil Weiner

Chad, an aspiring author, sank into his easy chair and drifted into a
reverie.

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.

Recent Haiku

Wayne F. Burke

faces on a school bus:
petals of flowers
unopened

Debbie Strange

midnight sun
a polar bear’s breath
catches fire

Debbie Strange

winterberry
the first holiday
alone

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

Rhonda Melanson

The magic of growing things, its tangible beauty, I did not understand.

News

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Word & Image

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Filmpoems

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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.

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Lesley Curwen

    Valentia Light Lesley Curwen is a poet and broadcaster from Plymouth who often writes about coercive control. She won the Molecules Unlimited prize and was a finalist in the Wales Poetry Award. Her poems have been nominated for Forward and Pushcart Prizes. She can be found on @elcurwen.bsky.social and @elcurwen on instagram, and on facebook at  https://www.facebook.com/lesley.a.curwen. Her website is www.lesleycurwenpoet.com.

Antony Dunn

Have you heard the one about
how I’m hoping to bow out –
playing guitar for the Cure

Alex Scarborough

I measure distance in Spotify playlists
so I can’t be trusted with maps.

Myra Schneider

Forget the invisible network of servers which stores
and manages or mismanages data in the unending sky
far above our heads . . .

Sef

The body is not solid. The body is almost perfect.

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

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Previously featured

Emily Barker

      Red-tailed black cockatoo (Ngoolyark) Kaarak, kaarak The red-tailed black cockatoos call from bleeding limbs of the blooming Marri. Chet, chet, chet, chet They peck the honkey nuts. Hard fruit falls to the boort and bilara of the djarlma floor....

read more

Julian Aiken

      The Drowning We slept that summer in the small house Bedded in a meadow of foxgloves and thistles, Just a cry from the ocean -- Everyone knew about the boy Dragged from the water onto the beach, His lungs pumped with kelp and fry -- You’d span the...

read more

Recent Prose

Jo Bardsley

The little piece of newspaper, crisp and dark with age, flutters out of the gritty space between the fridge and the cabinet. I am cleaning the house while my wife is at school and at first I don’t understand.

Paul Goodman

They approach in hungry morning light, treading the path to the ridge and the row of giant’s teeth grown crooked with the ages

Neil Weiner

Chad, an aspiring author, sank into his easy chair and drifted into a
reverie.

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.

Recent Haiku

Wayne F. Burke

faces on a school bus:
petals of flowers
unopened

Debbie Strange

midnight sun
a polar bear’s breath
catches fire

Debbie Strange

winterberry
the first holiday
alone

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

Rhonda Melanson

The magic of growing things, its tangible beauty, I did not understand.

Picks of the Month

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Reviews

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