Innocent eyes, young, absorb the beauty
as ships lay anchor in Suvla Bay.
Eyes of lads lured by patriotic calls of duty
to fight for freedom ; England ; through affray.
In the distance, puffs of smoke, crack, cracking of guns
disturbs equilibrium. Assails sharpened senses,
bonding comrades, uniting mother's sons
who blank out terror and are numb to consequences.
Trained not to think what wars about, only just to do,
they creep in file through hacked out trenches
passing as they go, limbs of dead men poking through
the earth, fly scabbed, exuding stinking stenches.
They reach their goal, a head counts made,
two comrades lost, marked out and killed.
Swallowed shock. Already? On this first raid?
“Forward lads” the sergeant cries, but hearts are truly chilled.
Hiss of bullet, crack of rifle, thudding shells, boom of guns.
There's no respite, no mercy from the constant pounding.
At night, the glaring ,flare light stuns,
exposing shadows in their minds. The pressure is astounding.
Wild storms of driving rain come unbidden to the bay.
Dug outs collapse, submerge, no warning,
choking sleeping lads, burying them in Turkish clay.
Bodies laid out side by side, in the light of morning.
Cold comes creeping, stealthy, slow,
freezing uniforms, caked in slime, to freezing bodies.
No food. No shelter. No quarter given by the foe.
All hell is loosened on poor, broken squaddies.
Men are crawling through mud on hands and knees;
frostbite victims. All humanity is stripped from show.
Boy, in khaki, hauntingly pleas,
“Oh mother, mother, where can I go?”
What incompetent office reduces men to this?
This prostrated state. Anger surges in the heart
when thinking of that infernal abyss
created through lack of foresight from the start.
Why do issues need resolving through the slaughtering of men,
shattering lives, bringing grief to haunt each eternal day.
Did sacrificed ghosts cry out in protest when
ships pulled anchor from the hell in heavenly Suvla Bay?
© Glenis Meeks
September 2014
