"Backward Carriage, Early Draft of a Life"
The train shudders
through a corridor of fields,
windows flicking past barns, pylons,
a rusted ute half‑sunk in grass.
I sit face against the direction of travel,
watching the day unspool behind me,
towns shrinking
into small, forgettable shapes.
A few old choices drift up,
passing sensations,
random impressions
things that just happened
when I wasn’t paying attention.
The carriage rocks.
Someone coughs.
A suitcase thuds against metal.
Symbolic of something vague,
the world doing what it does.
A bend in the track reveals
a cluster of houses
I once thought I’d never leave.
Their roofs look smaller now,
paint bleached by years
I never bothered counting.
I try to picture the version of myself
that walked those streets,
but the image won’t settle
—it flickers,
then dissolves into the passing scrub.
The train slows near a siding,
gravel kicking up under the wheels.
A dog trots along the fence line,
keeping pace for a moment
before drifting off toward the sheds.
I breathe in the diesel‑warm air,
searching for lack of meaning,
half-expected revelations
—the motion lets me sigh
carry me backward
to wherever this line ends.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 29th, 2026 06:20
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell, sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: musically fit.
Offline)
Comments8
I see that train a coming down the lonesome track always moving forwards never going back.
Sometimes you just have to move on and never look back.
Yes, for many things in life there’s no looking back, ever 🙏🏻🕊️
Cryptic I had to read this three times for it to sink in. So set in forward motion it is hard to travel backward knowingly yet we do it all the time unknowingly. Each read produced more emotions from the past for this alone it gets a fave. Yet there is more I was struck by the last passage where everything goes contrary and backwards a clue to the rest of the poem. How often do we search for answers in the past only to return to the present. Well done my friend
Yes! That is looking back without dwelling on it and moving forward carrying the past without necessarily being burdened by it. A tricky tightrope, specifically to the logical mind. But there you have it, your explanation less convoluted than mine. Most appreciated, dear Soren. 🙏🕊️
You are most welcome Cryptic maybe less convoluted but far less poetic and it is in the convolutions that the beauty of poetry is exposed.
Such journeys I have taken myself, good write
Thanks for that, Norman. Glad to share some resonance. 🙏🕊️
most welcome
Good write A.
Thanks O 🙏🕊️
I like the way you are traveling looking backwards as a Metaphor for the Past .
Like the Picture. But is that an Angel on the Platform?
Creepy isn't it!? It was meant to be representative of a disembodied awareness/consciousness; not easily represented visually. 🙏🕊️
We should always move forward in life Rik, going back can be so disheartening.
Andy
My friend, what struck me most is the poem's quiet resistance to symbolism. “A suitcase thuds against metal. / Symbolic of something vague” made me smile. There is a gentle self-awareness throughout the piece that keeps it grounded even as it drifts into reflection. Beautifully done, Rik. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Many thanks, Tittu. 🙏🕊️
You have inspired me to get on a diesel train someday. I hope it feels the same as your poem...
I suppose not many are in service these days. In some places there is an annual or special occasion running of old steam locomotives as a commemoration as well. Thank you so much for interacting with this poem. Most appreciative. 🙏🕊️
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