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

Arlette Manasseh

You were the pine, softening the dirt I grew up in: the one I climbed in the breeze. Wanting to describe you, I had called you Paulie. That is not your name.

Lynn Valentine

A Bad Spell

The rowan by the house is cracked in two,
her bark ragged, grown good-for-nothing old.

Matt Nicholson

Cousin

I didn’t know who the call was about,
just that it was past my proper bedtime

Karen Hodgson Pryce

All at sea on a serenity of sheep,
we played monopoly, box tatty and frail.
Its missing chance cards, no get-out-of-jail.

Nicole Knoppová

Mami, I find myself wishing your memory
were a bird of prey—
red-tailed hawk or black vulture . . .

Previously featured

Recent Prose

Alison Wassell

Evelyn Battersby was a difficult woman to please, an easy one to disappoint. When her children brought their gifts on silver salvers she would sniff, wrinkle her nose, send them back to the kitchen.

Kayleigh Kitt

Henry leafed through the applications on his desk, sighed, picking up the first one.
Application no. 56/438/b
Activity/Description: Cheese rolling.  A large rinded cheese placed at the top of a hill. . .

Theo Stone

Into the Hills

. . . Every day he would wake up and rearrange his sense of self, renew his memories of the world before, and head back into routine in order to make the next paycheck. . .

From the Archives: Chaucer Cameron on Halloween

Sunday afternoon there’s always roast dinner. Then mum and dad go to church. The twins stay and wash dishes. Elder-twin picks up a plastic bag with unused Brussels sprouts inside. The cellar door is open.

Arthur Mandal

      Childhood’s Cave The worst times were Thursdays. They were the weekly meetings, when things were assigned, calculated, declared. A reprimand or an insult always brought her father home in the worst of moods. Her mother, on...

Recent Haiku

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.

Short Poems Feature III

as a child, I learn to eat words

fill me up with words
brittle like sugared almonds
they crunch in my bones

Amaleena Damlé

News

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

Arlette Manasseh

You were the pine, softening the dirt I grew up in: the one I climbed in the breeze. Wanting to describe you, I had called you Paulie. That is not your name.

Lynn Valentine

A Bad Spell

The rowan by the house is cracked in two,
her bark ragged, grown good-for-nothing old.

Matt Nicholson

Cousin

I didn’t know who the call was about,
just that it was past my proper bedtime

Karen Hodgson Pryce

All at sea on a serenity of sheep,
we played monopoly, box tatty and frail.
Its missing chance cards, no get-out-of-jail.

Nicole Knoppová

Mami, I find myself wishing your memory
were a bird of prey—
red-tailed hawk or black vulture . . .

News

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Previously featured

Recent Prose

Alison Wassell

Evelyn Battersby was a difficult woman to please, an easy one to disappoint. When her children brought their gifts on silver salvers she would sniff, wrinkle her nose, send them back to the kitchen.

Kayleigh Kitt

Henry leafed through the applications on his desk, sighed, picking up the first one.
Application no. 56/438/b
Activity/Description: Cheese rolling.  A large rinded cheese placed at the top of a hill. . .

Theo Stone

Into the Hills

. . . Every day he would wake up and rearrange his sense of self, renew his memories of the world before, and head back into routine in order to make the next paycheck. . .

From the Archives: Chaucer Cameron on Halloween

Sunday afternoon there’s always roast dinner. Then mum and dad go to church. The twins stay and wash dishes. Elder-twin picks up a plastic bag with unused Brussels sprouts inside. The cellar door is open.

Arthur Mandal

      Childhood’s Cave The worst times were Thursdays. They were the weekly meetings, when things were assigned, calculated, declared. A reprimand or an insult always brought her father home in the worst of moods. Her mother, on...

Recent Haiku

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.

Short Poems Feature III

as a child, I learn to eat words

fill me up with words
brittle like sugared almonds
they crunch in my bones

Amaleena Damlé

Picks of the Month

Reviews