Edlynn Nau Poet Free verse

Killing Time

My father once sat waiting, 
to live or die at roadside.
Kill or be killed!
Enemy or friend,
he shot first.
And in so doing, 
he lived in flesh 
but, died in spirit.

My father once sat waiting,
on a war tank at roadside.
Kill or be killed!
Enemy or friend,
he warmed himself.
Lounging on the tank,
listening, hearing, 
of, final sounds inside.

Tick, tick, TICK,
my father jumped off.
His turn at warming! 
Tank as body heater,
sliding off to explore.
The clockwork sound,
explodes in thunder
and, his men are dead.

My father sits waiting, 
to live or die at home.
Time to be killed!
Growing older quickly,
catching up with ticks. 
Finding his lost men,
collecting them now
since, only he won.

My father sits waiting, 
as once a boy, to live.
A boy with men in war!
Innocence, forever lost,
robbed of all but waiting.
Evening the score,
his clay and dust 
to blend, to settle.

My father a seedling, 
taking hold of earth. 
Forming a dandelion! 
Budding him in yellow,
blowing feathered wishes.
For anything he killed,
enemy or friend 
finally, he’ll sit waiting.

By Edlynn Nau
(Tribute to my father while he is still living, so 
he knows that I knew, how hard each breath
was after Korea, as one of the living dead)
© January 13, 2020

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Gershon Wolf January 13, 2020 at 8:09 PM Powerful, heart-wrenching tribute, Edlynn, to a man, your father, who was of that greatest generation. (WW2 and Korea, in my book). Bravo, Gershon Edlynn Nau January 13, 2020 at 9:41 PM I think the writing of this has been a long time in coming. As a child, I recall him wrapping and unwrapping his leg every single day for a decade. I remember the day he knew he could stop. Sometimes he came home with a sickening headache from diseases he got there and he couldn’t work (but it was rare). He taught me some Japanese and told me how he loved the island and the people and hated when he was suddenly taken away to fight the war in Korea. My dad was only 17 but he lied and said he was 18. There was no war then. My Mom wouldn’t let him tell us war stories. Over time, I asked anyway because, while I coud not bare to watch war stories, I knew I was a storyteller and I’d try and set dad’s stories encapsulated in poetry. This and “Dead At Home” are it so far. It takes a lot emotionally to write them. Thanks for reading. I didn’t think anyone would. It’s not a common relatable experience.

Connie Marcum Wong January 13, 2020 at 5:37 PM This poem is just so moving Edlynn. I can relate as my stepfather drank to cope with his PTSD that occurred after he fought in WWll. He escaped the prison camp when their plane was shot down in Germany, but his two best buddies were killed escaping with him. Now there is help available for those with PTSD if they will accept it. Best wishes for your father.xxoo Edlynn Nau January 13, 2020 at 6:13 PM Thanks! He has always done pretty well trying to live a good life and do good. Not much of a drinking problem but I think he watches it. Both his temper and his pride can get the best of him. Still, he will always feel guilty that he lived by some fluke or chance and they died the same way. Thanks for giving this free verse (with odd grammatical structure) a read anyway.