Christmas in Baghdad

Christmas in Baghdad

A Poem by Fegger
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Is this the place where garland grows,

Among the olive branches low?

Splattered, cindered, clay abode,

Am I so alien?

Encircled those, in khaki drab;

Paying homage to the bags;

Which hold remains of brave, young lads;

Will I feel again?

 

Surrounded, chains of un-lit lights,

Which only shine in day, not nights;

Illumination betrays the plights,

Should we become aglow.

A tree of polypropylene,

Adorns the tower, so serene;

A branch of steel hid in-between,

That only gunner knows.

 

The air of diesel, not of Myrrh,

As pre-fab dwellings start to stir,

Indifferent as they observe,

Fading of the Star.

A failed attempt at lone ‘SandMan’

Adorned with boots, bayonet in hand,

Iraqi winds displace his stand,

Re-formed in Kandahar.

 

T’was yesterday, on Christmas Eve;

A day ahead of promised leave,

When Paul, Eric, Mark and Steve,

Took leisurely patrol.

In Tikrit, where he was born,

Some sixty years before this ‘Storm’,

They’d set-out on this early morn.

Assessing evening’s toll.

 

Among the buildings, scattered ruins;

Charred men--shadows, on the dunes;

From temples soar cremated plumes;

One hour had gone by.

In the distance, beyond the spire,

Come ‘reports’ of skirmish fire,

Incessant screaming of the dire;

Then screams dissolve to cries.

 

Approach, inside a city square,

Where once a fountain teemed, right there,

Smoldering flesh, low burning hair;

A family splayed together.

Rank and putrid pieces strewn,

Mother’s face, shrapnel-hewn;

Attending Allah far too soon--

All their hands were tethered.

 

Domestic dogs, now on their own,

Fight for human flesh and bone;

Such holy image sets the tone,

As chorus strikes ‘Jihad’.

Eric stumbles, exploded knee,

Bearing witness to comrades, three,

Souls reclaimed near instantly;

Christmas in Baghdad.

 

Is this the place where garland grows;

Among the olive branches low?

How I miss New England snow,

This Christmas in Baghdad.

© 2010 Fegger


Author's Note

Fegger
Copyright 2010, Fegger

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Reviews

very good

Posted 13 Years Ago


I know the feeling. I spend 5 years in the Middle East on Christmas. Bad part of being a water and gas man for the Army. Great description and story. You brought back memories. I didn't try to think of the holidays. Better to keep busy and allow the people at home to celebrate the holidays. A outstanding poem.
Coyote

Posted 13 Years Ago


This was very good.

Posted 13 Years Ago


I do not think I have ever read such an exquisitely crafted ode to the horrors of war. Every stanza, every line, nearly every WORD...certainly, this is a first hand account? Your style literally takes the breath from my lungs.

Posted 13 Years Ago


excellent write. so sad but yet inspiring at the same time...

Posted 13 Years Ago


an excellent write, and I truly loved the theme

Posted 13 Years Ago


So beautifully written.

Posted 13 Years Ago


sad times for everyone involved.
excellent write.

Posted 13 Years Ago


I wish all the soldiers could go home and put an end to this rediculous war.911 was an inside job

Terrorist is what the big army calls the little army

Posted 13 Years Ago


A nostalgic remembrance of New England.seems peeping all through the poem.

Posted 13 Years Ago



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1288 Views
43 Reviews
Rating
Shelved in 4 Libraries
Added on December 8, 2010
Last Updated on December 9, 2010
Tags: war, Iraq, Afghanistan, marines

Author

Fegger
Fegger

CT



About
Published poet, songwriter, author and occasional humorist. "If I were lost, I wouldn’t deny it. Quite frankly, I’d embrace the fear in a dramatic and tortuous event until the child spo.. more..

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