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Array ( [sid] => 136841 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => A Girl called Painless [time] => 2007-08-19 22:41:19 [hometext] => sometimes your life changes when it intersects with another's journey... [bodytext] =>

She studied the skies and clouds
as they passed in reflection,
but ignored her fellow passengers
like incidental shadows.
I tried to strike up a conversation
because she was beautiful and aloof.
‘First time riding the dog?‘ I asked.
‘No’ she replied with only a cursory glance,
and settled back into the
Greyhound blur of the passing world;
and respecting that, I left her in her own bubble.

At a truck stop on interstate 40
we disembarked our numb asses and
mobbed the suspect toilets
—but not lady mystery,
who stood wriggling her toes in hot sand
and marvelling at the adobe ruins.
Each rock and plant held great attraction
but her own kind bored her to flatness.

When the bus driver called us all
on board from our greasy burgers and fries,
one passenger never answered the summons.
Hers was an older calling that whispered
long and low over the mesas, and
forwent the bland familiarity of
schedules and timecards.
It had taken her into the maw of the desert
to god knows what and where,
and the driver, sweaty and tired
from back to back runs,
wasn’t prepared to wait.

When they emptied the baggage hold in Phoenix
one item remained - a snakeskin guitar case
with the word ‘Painless’ on the handle tag.
I claimed it as my own,
and later that night under a billion, trillion stars
played a sweet acoustic melody
to a girl called Painless
—or whatever her name was,
and hoped she would come looking for that guitar,
one day.
[comments] => 6 [counter] => 266 [topic] => 31 [informant] => spike [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 20 [ratings] => 4 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )

A Girl called Painless

Contributed by spike on Sunday, 19th August 2007 @ 10:41:19 PM in AEST
Topic: StoryPoetry

She studied the skies and clouds
as they passed in reflection,
but ignored her fellow passengers
like incidental shadows.
I tried to strike up a conversation
because she was beautiful and aloof.
‘First time riding the dog?‘ I asked.
‘No’ she replied with only a cursory glance,
and settled back into the
Greyhound blur of the passing world;
and respecting that, I left her in her own bubble.

At a truck stop on interstate 40
we disembarked our numb asses and
mobbed the suspect toilets
—but not lady mystery,
who stood wriggling her toes in hot sand
and marvelling at the adobe ruins.
Each rock and plant held great attraction
but her own kind bored her to flatness.

When the bus driver called us all
on board from our greasy burgers and fries,
one passenger never answered the summons.
Hers was an older calling that whispered
long and low over the mesas, and
forwent the bland familiarity of
schedules and timecards.
It had taken her into the maw of the desert
to god knows what and where,
and the driver, sweaty and tired
from back to back runs,
wasn’t prepared to wait.

When they emptied the baggage hold in Phoenix
one item remained - a snakeskin guitar case
with the word ‘Painless’ on the handle tag.
I claimed it as my own,
and later that night under a billion, trillion stars
played a sweet acoustic melody
to a girl called Painless
—or whatever her name was,
and hoped she would come looking for that guitar,
one day.

Copyright Â© spike ... [ 2007-08-19 22:41:19]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: A Girl called Painless (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Sunday, 19th August 2007 @ 11:17:31 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Spike, my friend, this was a wonderful poetic story. I knew from the title that it would be something amazing
and you did not disappoint. There is an air of mystery about this girl you captured, that is so very compelling.
I think, a lot of the times, what we don't know is so much more interesting than what we do. What I mean to
say is, what we imagine about another is sometimes more of an intrigue than what we later find out. In that
respect, I hope the owner of that guitar never finds the poet. His life may be even richer for just having the
taste of mystery she left . . .

(hoping I make sense .. it's early lol)

Love the story, spikers. And the way it ended, just adds to that poetic ache we all love to feel. :)

~Breezy

Re: A Girl called Painless (User Rating: 1 )
by madhusudan on Sunday, 19th August 2007 @ 11:38:16 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

This is without doubt one of the most beautiful reads i have read in its category...there is a flow and it reads like a mystery, poetric, drama all in one and the end result doesnt disappoint...just beautiful and im surely gonna read it again now...
thanks!

Re: A Girl called Painless (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Monday, 20th August 2007 @ 12:56:37 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

A haunting and deliciously descriptive write,Spike.Logged in the brain and not to be forgotten.It will resurface on the mention of acoustic guitars, or snakeskin.
Man,I hope she does come looking for it.What a way to snare a girl--you rascal.

Den

Re: A Girl called Painless (User Rating: 1 )
by endlesspath on Monday, 20th August 2007 @ 02:22:08 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

what a write of silent romance and feeling like it was meant for you to find. maybe one day she will reappear to see what this path is going to bring. beautiful write.

endless

Re: A Girl called Painless (User Rating: 1 )
by deadheadpoet on Monday, 20th August 2007 @ 03:25:46 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Spike,
This felt so lonely, but tinted with mystery and romance. It was a beautiful story to read. You give us such yummy pieces to sink our teeth in. Very well penned.
Peace and hugs,
Laura

Re: A Girl called Painless (User Rating: 1 )
by Dom on Tuesday, 21st August 2007 @ 03:22:37 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

What a wonderful story and wonderful journey you have taken us on with this read, full of intrigue and mystery.
At times I enjoy people watching and wondering who they are and what they do, but as Breezy puts once you know the answers to those questions (partial answers anyway because the full truth can rarely be known) then the mystery is lost. It is the unknown that makes this poem so wonderful.

Dom

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