There is a choice

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Azrul Aziz on Unsplash

If I could live inside the walls that have no divide, I would not have love and anger inside. There is a fine line that exists between love and anger. Some say it is passion others view it as human. To me, they are two words that stand side by side. Which one do I choose to multiply?


I see love and anger with the human race, over color and faith. It saddens me because the skin is so thin, and the race consciousness focuses on the difference. I am a white woman with a child and grandchildren that are mixed. …


Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Linus Nylund on Unsplash

They baptized me in the name of the Father, Son,
and Holy Ghost

My newborn existence was not immature
I chose this lifetime to soak
in the holy water once more

I toiled through excessive rainfalls,
and enormous waves
cried me to sleep and was afraid

I asked God to replenish my soul
and immerse me with the Holy Spirit
once more

My angel took me under her wings
and led me home, and quenched me in
pristine water, water, water

Sunday quiet

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash

You crushed the tempo of our love
Touched my pulse where we once united
Thready because of your affection for another

I am a bleeding heart after the quake is over
I shed the leftovers and gradually
build a new horizon

I rise
and see beyond the breaks of the tide
In tranquility, I sanctify on
Sunday quiet


Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Alessandra Caretto on Unsplash

Webs of yesterday untangling into the crisp breeze,
dissolving a past that no longer has its rewards;
she now carries a residue of melancholy
and stands in no-man’s-land

She composed her life story,
edited her journey over and over
The words puddled in tears
cries to immortality, petitioning for saving
while moving through her energy field

Bodiless arms supported her
in the sigh of dawn
By her family, that’s no longer bound here

They tracked her tears to a diary,
of which she could not recall

They held her as she reached
into the chambers of her heart
and united with her inner child
releasing their cracks and crevasses
and hand-me-downs

She allowed her child to bellow it out
and held her in tenderness
She knew it was their path to resolving
the refrain that her innocence…


Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Mateus Campos Felipe on Unsplash


The Incarnation
Immaculate Conception
Bodiless to form

Gabriel’s message
“You are favored by the Lord”
Love your Messiah

Thank you, Darshak Rana, for tagging me on Spiritual Saturday Prompt, Love.

Play time

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by John Yunker on Unsplash

The birds are playing
hide and seek in the trees,
chirping along the way.
Wind chimes hanging on
join them in song.

The majority sail away,
some birds remain.

The squirrel comes to play;
he hops up the trunk and inches up.
He has no wings, but that doesn’t stop him.

He hangs out on top of the sapling.
Hoping they welcome him.

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Faith McDonald on Unsplash

The present moment

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Josh Couch on Unsplash

She watches the leaves from a closed window, seeking to catch them. It is impossible. She tries every morning and never gives up watching them in wonder. Her eyes glowed in beauteous shades of blue. Frequently, they turn colors like the leaves that are performing in front of her. The sunlight flickers in them, reflecting her presence.

I am in awe of her.

After many days she purrs with admiration and enjoys their beauty and doesn’t have to capture the leaves anymore. It is enough to watch.

She is like a toddler exploring the marvel of dancing leaves in the breeze and mesmerized by their beauty. …

Born Again

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Paul Siewert on Unsplash

My memoir
Penmanship that curves
and loop into shapes in the aurora
Formless into the form of heaven’s touch
A song on wings of fairy’s fluttering to my birth

My dear memoir
In December’s, snow
now I am grown
My boots stuck in the slush,
wading through life’s storm;
brittle tree trunks of cold
coiled upward, iced

My dear memoir
In March, dumping garbage,
pungent bitterness
that no longer serves me
Swept away by the wild wind

My dear memoir
April is the month
I’ve done the work
Copious white rains,
relaxing veins,
defrosting the pain

My dear memoir
In May,
my bottle is vacant of others
Buoyant on the brook of flowing Mana
replenished in my born again self


Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Hidayat Abisena on Unsplash

Bodiless water
A lure to heaven’s favor
Kindled in heart-songs

Trees joining the choir
Harmonious melody

You're fired

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Ömürden Cengiz on Unsplash

We will sweep away the dead leaves;
we are looking forward to brighter days
I can exhale a deep breath;
America has passed the test

He ridiculed his son
for having an addiction problem
We common-folks know
you do not go after anyone’s children

Democracy had its test,
and it was something I took for granted
It’s as fragile as glass

Let’s give him props
for doing what Spirit chose him to do
Break the nasty crust of the karmic soil

People can no longer deny
the racial slurs he slapped
in our faces day and night
we the people have spoken

Get your racists ass out. YOU’RE FIRED!!

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Leintz Belony on Unsplash


Bernadette DeCarlo

Writing has healed me in ways that I could have never imagined.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store