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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At first sight: Poetry by RB Wilson

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I saw you through the broken screen door beyond the porch light that flickered with moths   and made your opal eyes dance behind fine rusted tulle scarred by careless men   Was the music that played almost imperceptibly inside your head, or was it in mine? RB Wilson lives in the Imperial Valley. He…

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Love Beets Flowers: Fiction by William Cass

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Very rare: blue moon, bright Mars.  Both rose just after sunset that late May evening.  I stayed out in the backyard gazing up into the night sky until they were nearly straight overhead.  So vivid, they appeared to tremble.  Astronomers called their alignment “in opposition”.  That seemed apropos; my ex-wife had moved out earlier that…

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Books and Secrets: Fiction by Adreyo Sen

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              The witch lived in one of the houses facing the field where we played and every now and then, she would emerge in a faded kameez that reached her ankles, a book under her arm, puffing furiously at a cigarette. We were warned not to talk to the witch, who was, our parents…

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Cafones and Cancer: Fiction by Salvatore Difalco

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When my father was in the late stages of terminal lung cancer—chemo and two operations had not slowed it down—a group of his friends came to our house to visit him. They had been drinking. Giacchino Palmieri, his godson, the loudest among them, slurred and slobbered greetings to my father, who was already in pajamas…

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A Different Love: Poetry by Neil Shah

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in loving milieu I’ll dance upon broken boards over bogs that smoke gently in the evening, over rib-cages patched with the enamored and concussed, in such dimly lit admiration I’ll press my tongue into your wine glass, into the almost empty can you hold between your knees, dented, compressed, and full of your spit.  …

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