Reflections on the puddle of life

I haven't been posting poetry on the forum, or in my blog for a while. Following a talk from a poetry publisher it seems that any kind of publication, even including that on a writing forum, can disqualify you from submitting poetry for publication in a magazine. So I've been wary of posting any original work on Lit-net because of that. This poem, however, I wrote a little while ago and because it is a little odd I'm not really sure what to do with it. So I thought I'd post it here. It was written on one of my many train journeys, in recollection of an earlier journey when I was waiting on the platform for my connecting train, which was late. It was a sunny day, I was reading Grendel, when a freight train went through the station. It's an extraordinary feeling. I hope I might have recreated a little of it here.

On the platform: a passing freight train

Shunted air
breaks the stillness like the first
moan of a storm;

breaking, like life’s thin shell:
birth, death, the middle bit
it somehow comes to this –

a freight train in the distance
(coming closer)
vivid as the dawning of a lightning-shattered sky
(coming closer)
as the quietly weeping rails begin to sing
(coming closer)
as the trackside debris rises like a miracle
(coming closer)
the shocked air lifting, tugging, tugging, pulling me in -

then it hits

with its trucks and trucks and trucks and
trucks and trucks and trucks and trucks and
trucks and trucks and trucks and trucks and
trucks and trucks and trucks and trucks.
Yellow as the fields.
Yellow as a child’s love.
Yellow as fear.
Yellow as the sun.
Beating like life.
Beating like war drums.
Beating like time.
Beating like violence.
Strong as my dreams.
Strong as the ocean.
Strong as belief.
Strong as devotion;

and I’m caught in the irresistible force
of its wake, sliding
to the edge of the platform
the bold wind embracing me, taking me up.