“I’ll get there when I get there,” and if I don’t? I wondered that while we sat by the water those years you still needed to look up to me, the graven image of myself I dreaded and remade until I learned who I was, from a distance: I watched you wander woods I planted,…
The Empress she needs a man who knows his anima who can say what he needs or nothing who can bow to the beast in her, mistress of blood, refuse, and rage who sees her like the pomegranate smooth, round, and rosy housing many jagged facets, tumbling into jewels in her belly as…
S.R. Stewart is a poet living in Portland, Oregon. Her work has been published in both literary journals and newspapers. In her spare time, she camps, bakes, and gardens. Stewart blogs at ifyougiveagirlabook.org.
“Offices” I don’t remember where we were, but I knew it was your office. Crowded, messy. Maybe a supply room. And I’d found a puzzle I wanted to take home. It had rain in diagonals over kids in rain coats, under umbrellas and boots, in a tree house, impossibly high in a lush…
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. …
open me first narrow commitments within me second bind sharpness outside blurred sex third dress the new strength the way of originals A.P. is the author of Anima (dancing girl press, 2018). She has contributed creative work to DIAGRAM, New England Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, among others. Born in Bucharest, she…
Crimson, cool, crescent: I stare at the bowl. Not into it, but at it. The bowl isn’t fishing for compliments, but I need to characterize it to peacefully dismantle its inanimateness. What it needs is unanimity. The bowl waits to be filled. She calls it a womb for fruits and fingers. A thing to…
This is my first time using Yelp, so you’ll have to pardon me if I’m not following the guidelines correctly. I remember when the founder of Yelp, little Jeremy Stoppelman, was born. He was a sweet boy, a curious boy… always a bit of a snitch and gossip, but it’s good to see that his…
Your moniker was “the love of my life” Because in my mind you and I would go our separate ways Then find each other again at fifty-five When you’d open your eyes and shut the blinds Because we’d have everything we need here, inside Where we’d drink our wine and spend the rest of time…
Rose Tattoo The old man has a tattoo of a rose on his left cheek (of a rose) and his eyes have seen the horrors of this world (perhaps he cannot speak) and he stands outside in silence, smokes his endless cigarette, watches the pavement in its refusal to move. I don’t expect a…
Welcome to our collection of FORTH-curated verse. You may not realize it, but you've encountered poetry every day of your life. You read it in college, you hear it on the radio, you see it scrawled in alleyways, you feel it in the eyes of loved ones. FORTH is one of few online poetry magazines for the contemporary, future-wise poet. We’re not simply a poetry journal or blog, but rather one of the best poetry magazines online, featuring beautiful, diverse poems from all over the globe and curated right here in Los Angeles. At FORTH we also cover local poetry events, bringing you inside looks and interviews with today's burgeoning and established poets. Unlike many poetry journals, FORTH is open to verse of all styles and all themes. The one thing that all of our online poetry magazine submissions have in common, however, is a contemporary voice that strikes the modern reader. You can torture yourself through a classical anthology or lose your mind on Twitter; or, you can look to FORTH for poetry that remixes classic themes for the 21st Century poetry fiend. If you've got the verse, we've got the platform. Submit to poetry@forthmagazine.com.
