Emma Starts Soccer

Should you be allowed to play soccer if the ball comes above your knees? Shoes too big, shirt too big, shorts too big... oh well. Here's Emma's first day of the season and she was doing a great job. She has already developed a "super soccer kick", it's pretty devastating.

Holding Hands by the Nolichucky

This is a picture of Abby and Emma holding hands while hiking by the Nolichucky River at Davey Crockett's birthplace. We were on a picnic and had a great time. They were helping each other over the rocks. They are great hikers and small rock climbers. So proud of them. Thought they were going to fall in the river at time or two.

The Earth sings green the day before Spring

Call Me Jonny Bon

My pappaw called me Jonny Bon. I'm not sure where he got it. I had no idea at the time but I now know that in French "bon" means good. Perhaps it just rhymed. But, oh how I wish I were known by all as "good jonny"; by those close to me, my friends, my family, my wife. I suppose Ode shortened Jonathan to Jonny as a term of endearment. The oldest son of his youngest daughter. He must have thought something of me, fondly. I know I did of him.

I broke more than a few eggs and probably BB-gunned a chicken or two those few weeks in the summer we spent on his farm. Got tangled in the electric fence and herded by the goats gruff that ranged those sassafras few acres of northeast Mississippi. I was fascinated by farm implements and the recycled freezer full of feed corn. The green repainted John Deere tractor that sat in the barn infested with wood-boring wasp was held in high regard by the boy from Oklahoma. On those humid southern days the sultry breeze that drew across the pebbled red-clay soil smelled of cedar, dog dander, and ammonia from the chicken scat in the hen house. And I wandered around, exploring.

During the wet Christmas season I recall the musty dampness of the oil coated triple branched dog lead restraining the stocky beagles eager to hound the swamp rabbits until they returned home only to be greeting by a lead-shot bouquet. The smell of skinned rabbit guts is still familiar to me, not haunting but humorous, as I still use it to describe the fragrance of whoever it was that let one go in the car. I also still carve walking sticks for my would be tom-girls in the fashion that pappaw did for me while we waiting for the rabbit to come back. I noticed and worshipped the out-of-doors skills he had for farming and hunting, breeding and trading.

I remember too his anger, how he let me know his thoughts the times I broke the eggs or ground wood on the bench grinder, or when he was upset with Mammaw Ritter. I heard the stories of how he once beat a dog to death. I heard my dad speak of his meanness and saw it too at times. Once when our family visit ended abruptly, upsetting Mammaw, I think I recall him slapping her to get her to calm down.

Guess what. I can whittle a walking stick in no time. I can plant a garden full of yellow squash and a bumper crop full of tomatoes. I can make useful things out of leather and wood and I can be mean and hateful. Terrifying is the word Areli used last week to describe my correction of my six and eight year old daughters. I was flattered but mostly I was just described by what she had said. And the fact is, that's not how I want to be. But it is and I can't seem to help it when I want to the most. And when I miss it I'm sorry and all I want is for some one to call me good. Say, "hey Jonny Bon, what to help me feed the goats? I'll let you scoop the feed." Where has Jonny Bon gone? How can he get back?

The Riches I Have

The riches I have were not mine one day,

One day, previous in my life

The riches I have were not claimed by me

By me knowing nothing but strife

The riches I have were not mine until

I realized God, source of light

The riches I have, they were given to me

To me, undeserving, un-right

The riches I have were not mine, and yet

By decision I married, made right

The riches I have are a gift, healing me

Redemption from heaven, my wife

-Jonathan Glenn

13 May, 2005

Cinta A Sonnet

Cinta, Cinta,

Quite contrary.

Waits for something more.

But while she waits, anticipates

She found herself a bore.

And so she sought to pedigree

Become what others proffer.

But what she found was something less

Than what she had to offer.

Oh bother, my brother, my captain, no poet;

Why cater with words so of dread,

Why prescribe a sonnet without something on it

And verse so un-apropos said?

A life misread and dreams unreal, expectations unrequited.

I found instead of the husband I wed, a hero yet unknighted.

Jonathan A. Glenn

These poems are past items that I have written for Areli until I get into the habit of posting original stuff daily. Please read and enjoy.

Found Art

Found Art

July 17, 2006

To Areli

my love

-SHMILY

Jonathan

There is a fine thing in Italia

That I constant quest to see

Over the Alps and down the far side;

Just short of mountained Tuscany.

Stay west of Venezia, oh, just a bit

Now back to Verona for only a stint

In Veneto husbanded

Rare beauty vine sweet

The object of my longing…

Not frank Mona Lisa

Nor leaning to please

Or led via Roma bound way

More classic than Peter’s square

Perfection approaching

Like marble’s smooth face beauty fair.

I find there my favored love…

Three times I asked her

Three times she replied

And multiplied blessings

Appeared at her side

Like columns of wonder

And faces of grace

I find in my quiver

She fills up my place

Each valley and hilltop

Exploring I go

Determining subtleties

Inspecting each rose

From auburn crown down

To her rare freckled face

Across each inch marking

My lips gently trace

And lingering softly

To whisper her name

I call her my lover

She breaths out the same

Without hesitation

I take my sweet time

Each moment made sweeter

As her thoughts mingle mine

Her museum perusing

A masterpiece made

Each portal I open

Reveals unrivaled fame

Soft, wait; what creation

Did I pass too soon?

I return to my pleasure

Round shoulder to groom.

This road leads to valleys

A curve and a bone

Her cheek follows gently

To where kisses call home.

Stay here for a while

Tasting honey and skin

Take a dew flavored petal

Spiral soft, subtle in.

The season, it changes

Like bird on the wing

Chase summer in autumn

South; warm climates bring

Enjoy vista’s journey

Scenes marvelous view

Creation God Sculpted

Delight for the Two

Trace over perfection

With feather soft touch

Enlighten, encircle

Soul hungry for such

Remain here for pleasure

Remain here for tone

Remain here forever

Raw senses to hone

And now can I leave

For points much further on

I’ll stay if you ask me

List’ to your faint song

Now exhausted my touring

The wonder I’ve met

The art that I’ve found here

Is the best I’ve found yet.

Upon A Hill

A long walk on far distant hill,

I started up, but against my will.

I wouldn't see what crowned the top,

What lay ahead made my heart stop.

A pretty girl fit just for me,

With hands of wonder, eyes that see.

Her eyes they looked in my direction.

My heart and soul they soon affected.

Captured by her grace and beauty,

Unfounded love that she gave to me.

Why do you give so much, not due me?

For I deserved much less than she.

She waved my doubt away with words,

And said I had always been hers.

I found in her, my eyes did see,

In she, no cause to disagree.

So I grew up and she with me,

Taught well with love's sincerity.

I soon believed that I would die,

If she did from my reaching fly.

By Grace she found a place, fit in.

My Abigail, to quit my sin.

Why, I don't know, God favored me.

To send my wife, redeeming me.

I love you, Areli

Love, your husband

Jonathan Glenn