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

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.

Wayne F. Burke

faces on a school bus:
petals of flowers
unopened

Jon Miller

The upper floor of the old byre
a darkness made of owl-stare—
its blink drinks you in.

Salvatore Difalco

No green swell this evening
will detach me from my hat.

Previously featured

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

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Eleanor Holmes

Eleanor Holmes

One winter I remember he looked up and said:
‘the moon is a melon.’

We’d made a telescope out of used loo roll
to look for Father Christmas.

cw: flickering images

read more

Featured Poetry/Prose of the Day

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.

Wayne F. Burke

faces on a school bus:
petals of flowers
unopened

Jon Miller

The upper floor of the old byre
a darkness made of owl-stare—
its blink drinks you in.

Salvatore Difalco

No green swell this evening
will detach me from my hat.

News

Word & Image

Filmpoems

Eleanor Holmes

Eleanor Holmes

One winter I remember he looked up and said:
‘the moon is a melon.’

We’d made a telescope out of used loo roll
to look for Father Christmas.

cw: flickering images

read more

Previously featured

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

Reviews

Zain Rishi on Meredith MacLeod Davidson

Zain Rishi on Meredith MacLeod Davidson

From the opening poem of Meredith MacLeod Davidson’s transpiration, we find ourselves in a landscape haunted by cycles of loss. ‘Anchorless / a boat bangs against sea-weathered pylons,’ and this same lack of purpose and the inevitably of decay is infused throughout the imagery of “Deltaville”.

read more
Shannon Clinton-Copeland on Lewis Buxton

Shannon Clinton-Copeland on Lewis Buxton

“Every poem in Mate Arias is a supporting column in the architecture of a tenderly rendered pantheon to friendship and the myriad forms of platonic love, particularly between men. The pamphlet is made up of twenty-three sonnets, each a vignette of affection, contemplation and memory.”

read more
Chris Hardy on Quentin Cowdry

Chris Hardy on Quentin Cowdry

The poems are carefully structured in regular stanzas, with well-paced, rhythmical lines and deft use of enjambment. The various subjects and themes, which differentiate and unite the work, are built on close observation of the world, of nature and human experience, and how we relate to and respond to it.

read more