FORTH Magazine

FORTH was created to explore, examine, and expose the work of both established and up-and-coming artists and writers. Through these digital pages, we take readers into the world of the author, the mind of the poet, the vision of the artist, to gain a unique perspective of the often intriguing, sometimes haunting, always strange, little worlds of our most innovative creators. Our mission is to support writers and artists by exposing their work and exploring their lives, and to maintain a recurring set of innovative writers and journalists that you'll only see in our pages. Our content isn't classical or traditional. We publish short format writing for the modern reader and contemporary art that challenges the modern onlooker. Founded in Los Angeles, CA in 2009, FORTH represents art and literature in a way that resonates with an evolving need for interactive media. The West Coast is on the scene. Welcome and enjoy!
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To Become Pure: Poetry by Kaila Allison

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They once were doves: emblems of peace, coiffed like kings, dressed in the white of popes.   Once composed of bones elastic, weightless in ancestral winds, bearing love notes or victories from overseas.   They would fly for miles and once tired they could only drink holy water, all else was tainted by desire.   They…

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Getting Clean: Poetry by Diana Raab

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Today I did something maybe I should not have done in a place where I should not have done it.   It was one of those awkward moments when you visited me in a place you should not have been,   you brought coffee and a pastry we made quick passionate love, you held me…

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Let Me In: Poetry by Devan Burton

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Weren’t we lovers once? The couple who laughed at tired jokes. Braved the ice-glazed roads for refried beans. And sat in an empty campus parking lot waiting for answers. I never judged your idiosyncratic breath asked you to wash the dishes or sit through my revisions. You wanted to heal the heart one hypothesis at…

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Too Much to Lose: Poetry by Aaron White

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I didn’t choose to be a dad   I plead to those snared by the rain when the sky’s foaming at its mouth, remember a woman from Monee, twenty-something, a student who smothered her baby and stuck him in a backpack instead of her books.     Myopic   Cramped couch. I count the minutes…

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