Tweeting a suburban wandering

I went into town recently (one of the major cities in Israel), and had many interesting experiences on my trip. I tweeted about some of them. Here's a list.

A pretty but very 'dead-faced' girl sitting on the bus:


her smoothest face / 
to hide behind, until / 
betrayed / 
it slit with lines and broke / 
into a smile.
(tweet)

... and in haiku form:

lipstick plastic pink /\
face unearthly smooth and flat /\
pretty in her shell
(tweet)

... a bus meditation:

sitting still on rumbling bus.
thoughts rolling under the roar.
wondering, wondering: a silent chasm cloaks me.
(tweet)

... on the bus was a very tired-looking old man who sat opposite me:

I saw the old man /
droop and fade /
slump and shrink /
eyes dim /
face grim. /
so tired; so old and tired.
(tweet)

... the sun hit my eyes as the bus turned and moved:

the sun skipped out from behind a tree, blinded me;
I closed my eyes, dark inside, felt collapse calling me.
(tweet)

... the sitting writer, an island in the swirling masses of humanity moving past around him:

he sat and swirled it all around;
ducked out of the race and watched it all go by;
pen in hand, open sparkling eye.
(tweet)

... and a musician trying out a guitar in a shop window:

sat young man /
behind glass shine /
strings in hand /
faraway eyes /
dance his fingers /
watchers pine /
walking by.
(tweet)

A Way to Make You Smile

Here's some simple - but perhaps profound - words. Not mine.

I've found a way to make you,
I've found a way --
A way to make you smile

I read bad poetry
Into your machine.
I save your messages
Just to hear your voice.
You always listen carefully
To awkward rhymes.
You always say your name,
Like I wouldn't know it's you,
At your most beautiful.

Yes, this is from 'At My Most Beautiful', by the great R.E.M.
Give it a listen.

Actually I always thought it was describing a guy trying to get a reaction from his beloved, who was hooked up to medical machines, perhaps in a coma.
Reading the lyrics, I see it's not about that. It's just about leaving a message on someone's message machine.
But the simple sadness in the music is profound at any rate.

a flat eye

she had a pretty face
but her eye was flat:
it held its mighty power over her in ugly smugness.

her friend looked fine,
no strange eyes,
and her nonchalance was nondescript and smooth.

but the first girl
had a flatted eye.
I suddenly urged a surge of pity
for a pretty girl
with all the chances but -
for this one thing,
the lid that drooped, the eye that hid in caved darkness within.

what are her chances?
what are her odds?
what kind of a special guy
will see through the eye
and into her soul?

and where, among the million,
is he?