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Poetry: “Nearer:Breath Of My Breath:Take Not They Tingling” by E. E. Cummings

nearer:breath of my breath:take not they tingling
limbs from me:make my pain their crazy meal
letting they tigers of smooth sweetness steal
slowly in dumb blossoms of new mingling:
deeper:blood of my blood:with upwardcringing
swiftness plunge these leopards of white ream
this pith of darkness:carve an evilfringing
flower of madness on gritted lips
and on sprawled eyes squirming with light insane
chisel the killing flame that dizzily grips.

Querying greys between mouthed houses curl

thirstily. Dead stars stink. dawn. Inane,

the poetic carcass of a girl

— ee cummings

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Poetry: “The Rabbit Catcher” by Sylvia Plath

It was a place of force –
The wind gagging my mouth with my own blown hair,
Tearing off my voice, and the sea
Blinding me with its lights, the lives of the dead
Unreeling in it, spreading like oil.

I tasted the malignity of the gorse,
Its black spikes,
The extreme unction of its yellow candle-flowers.
They had an efficiency, a great beauty,
And were extravagant, like torture.

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Poor Little Dears: The Sinister and Mysterious Childhood Depictions of Hikari Shimoda

Hikari Shimoda’s creepy paintings of children are simultaneously sweet and uncanny. The eerie mouths, asymmetrical, strange little faces and one-eyed appearance (often one milky eye, one bruised and bloody-looking) of these alien but painfully familiar little beings, rendered in bright or pastel, almost child-friendly, but also quite subtly mixed and delicate, colors, all serve to give an unsettling sense of the corruption of innocence, an inversion of the saccharine bliss associated with little children.

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