Jordan Peterson on the Sin of Resentment — The Imaginative Conservative (Reblog)

Rather than covet what we do not have, let us be grateful for the gifts and the traditions that have been passed down to us. Though he does not say so specifically, what Jordan Peterson ultimately calls upon modern, autonomous, post-Enlightenment individuals to do is to heed the commandment to honor one’s father and mother.…

Jordan Peterson on the Sin of Resentment — The Imaginative Conservative

The Dying and Rising Art of Motherhood — The Imaginative Conservative (Reblog)

Motherhood and any kind of public service or career are seen as a binary choice for many women. Many women have now agreed that “you can’t have it all” and have decided that the thing to sacrifice is the motherhood. 2,266 more words

The Dying and Rising Art of Motherhood — The Imaginative Conservative

Saint of the Day – 31 December – Saint Melania the Younger (c 383-439) — AnaStpaul (Reblog)

Saint of the Day – 31 December – Saint Melania the Younger (c 383-439) Foundress, Desert Hermit, Married and Mother of 2 children who died very young, Widow. Born c 383 and died in late December 439 at Jerusalem of natural causes. St Melania the younger was the daughter of Publicola, only son of St […]

Saint of the Day – 31 December – Saint Melania the Younger (c 383-439) — AnaStpaul

Poem: ‘Mother & Child’

Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on Pexels.com

Of course
you were always there;
I still see those dark eyes
like warm pools of love,
such intimacy poisoning
nearby attention.
And whilst jealousy
and estrangement
have enmeshed silence
around us ever since —
family is everything,
it’s all we have to
fall back on,
to stand up to those
moving to destroy us.
So mother, I honour you,
archetype in my mind,
fulcrum of my heart:
And may siblings forgive
each other.

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

dVerse open link night here

Poem: April 2

daffodils3

No longer will I bore you with my
mother’s life, and how I wish I could change
the way of her death. Thirteen years

is a long time, abridged by events that
just happen down this road. Though more
and more, this life seems impersonal, like

watching a new born lamb, sweet
to touch and then later to taste. How does
this lover turn carnivorous at a stroke?

And the lamb, like its mother, is a mere
vessel – when you’ve seen one, we all
know how we’ll react. So don’t get me wrong,

but Mum, you were a function, a role you
played so well, and no matter how
I embellish your memory at this time – well,

there you go, I have done it once again