Train Poems - Poems about Train

Derailment

Swallowed prayers
Faith abandoned at the station
I step off the train at its final stop
And find my chest hollow
No shadows soft enough 
To cradle a lie

Conductor

Cross over legs step from the train
Taking the handsome man to Amsterdam
Shoes and socks stuffed in the pockets
Feet conspicuously shrouded in mystery
Hidden away under advisement of mother and others
Under the umbrella of heavy rain born from clouds
Uncovered in a dance of fog swirling into darkness 
Where suspicions point in all directions    
To

Ways of Providence

“The only real influence I've ever had was over myself.” 
The Artist Edward Hopper ( Re: Altering or creating Providence.)


Assuming there are more brilliant ways,
That our life takes twists and turns like a maze,

Yet do we have influence over unforeseen plans, 
For our future and the way it evolves and spans ?

I believe that our

The Wrong Train

London fog, harshly early with strained warning,
Looms all over the image of the hectic city
There’s the smell of mists and the taste of
Frozen rain gathered before dawn.
Pulses brake and start,
And lungs are besieged by distilled grime,
Industrial tainting.
I can’t see well beyond five feet ahead of me
As I labour to walk,
But headlamps from crawling cars and

UP IN SMOKE

UP IN SMOKE* 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
whispers on the rails,
a lone train fades into dusk—
memories depart,
echoes of laughter linger,
in the smoke, dreams drift away.

*Note: This poem was originally published at Writer Monk in July 2025.  It is my original poem

train whistle blues

train whistle blues
reflecting my saddest moods
there she blows again
sounds like she’s lost a friend

for what does she lament?
her wail sounds heaven-sent
Is it a who or a lost love?
she sounds fragile as a turtle dove

Hades Train

There’s a place
in time
of no return
where you’re destined
for the end

A ride
straight down
with no reverse
to break
no longer bend

A final stop
on Hades 
train
where devils
wait in line

With all 
new couplets
in the flames
and nothing
— left to rhyme

(Dreamsleep: July, 2025) 

longing of train whistle

such longing in a long sad, drawn-out train whistle
do metal objects have feelings?
this sound makes the idea plausible

train whistle thoughts

train whistle,
 a seldom heard sound, long and low this morning
I wonder if this train is transporting people or cattle
or people treated like cattle
or cattle dressed like people

the train back home

The cold is leaving the air
And the smell of the grass is sneaking in.
The train is bringing me home,
The home where I was the reckoning.
My body shivers in the summer while remembering,
Remembering how the other me was acting.
The lowest part of my soul is gravitating
In the cafés, passages, and places,
Without fear, shame, nor guilt,
Screaming: here

My Mind Is a Train Station

Flickering lights cast shadows on the crowd,
Each chasing hopes that slip through their hands.

Trains whistle past in endless circles,
Rushing toward visions that never stay.

I stand beneath a single blinking light,
Waiting quietly as the crowd fades away.

No need to follow fading tracks,
No rush to catch a train that disappears.

The platform empties, footsteps soften,
Only my shadow remains,

Changing Trains

I used to ride the train
from school to home and back,
every other weekend,
in an old Pullman car
built in the nineteen-thirties.
It smelled like my grandma’s house—
a little musty, like time 
had curled up and fallen asleep 
in the cushions.
Too warm, always,
but the clickety-clack over 
tie bars and rail frogs
lulled me to sleep,
rocking me gently
as if the

waiting at the train station for my man

Three women with umbrellas were waiting for this train.
To get on or for someone to get off? I am yet to know.
I lost track of them after the people disembarked.
Looking for my husband, who would not have an umbrella.

My umbrella was at home, I was not expecting this dreary night.
My man would not be the

Train of Thought

Nothing but roadblocks railroading my train of thought
A way to move forward has to be on the precipus 
My vehicle halted on the road not traveled 
Hazard lights illuminate the darkness that surrounds my engine 
Unfortunate repairs as I leak black tears 
Busted, Mangled, & Torn Apart 
I sit parked in the space of my

Time

A timeless infinity
Stretches in all directions...
Reaches high
But finds a ceiling,
Reaches low
But finds a floor --
This timelessness is only horizontal
It reaches for the goal
But dissolves it in water
Before it can be grounded
In a surreal place
Of touches and smells
But no sounds, no tastes, no visions...
If I am hearty, then forgive me,
For I do not belong here,
Far from

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