by Lisa Huddleston

Satan strives to eat the earth with fire, floods, and every kind of destruction that will mask the face of God.

But dilution is the solution to pollution.

Are you washed in the blood?

Are you sowing seeds that lift our eyes to heaven?

Plant trees that clap their hands.

Stand firm on stones that cry out the truth.

Let everything that hath breath or creative inspiration praise the Lord.


By Lisa Huddleston

New dreams drop like kildy eggs

Perching at edges of driveways

And hiding among their dusty gravel imposter twins

Tires unknowingly pass over and around

These stony seeds of hope

Never seeing their nestless beds

And occasionally crushing all hope of life

But sometimes, a flapping, falsely broken wing detours that random death

And tiny dreams mature to peep and run to the cover of the verdant world of grass

A Pandemic Christmas or The Gramma Who Ran Away

By Lisa Huddleston

It was weeks before Christmas

And all through the land, 

Pandemic was raging

And little was grand.

But here on HudFarm

The goats and the ducks

The chickens and donkeys

Did not give a buck.

They had all the hay

That they wanted to eat,

And Doodaddy came every morning

With treats.

The great grandmas were saddened

Because of the change,

But we all did our best to

Make things feel the same.

The fifth generation who’d built on the land 

that had been in the family for centuries of days

Were doing their all to stay safe and not  stray.

But LiLi was having a terrible struggle

To fill all their stockings

With bangles and baubles!

One day she declared, “I’ve had just enough.

I’m hitting the road. This pandemic’s too tough.”

She packed up a bag, threw it over her shoulder,

Stuffed in a scarf cause the day had turned colder. 

Then head down the road she did in a hurry

With a huff and a puff and a gravel dust flurry.

When little than yonder from home she arrived

She noticed a funny scritch scratch at her sides.

Turning her head to the left and the right 

She gasped to see chickens had join in her flight.

“Now what will I do?” LiLi questioned herself.

“I’d meant to be solo, but this is a mess. 

I guess chickens can fend pretty well for themselves.”

And down the back roads LiLi fled from the rest.

“Now what?” LiLi flustered as to her surprise

Two donkeys appeared with their big loving eyes.

“It’s Essie and Latte. Now what will I do?”

But LiLi was stubborn and picked up her shoes.

“Oh my!” LiLi cried when along came the goats.

Blaise first, Bert, then Ernie, and Lil Buddy, the poke.

She knew that they loved her, and that she loved them. 

But how could she lead this whole mess from their pens!

Then off in the distance there came a sweet cry.

“It’s Quinnie,” she said. “There’s no way I can fly!”

Now turning around wasn’t easy to do with 12 chickens,

2 donkeys, 4 goats—quite a zoo.

But it was the right thing. She knew all along. 

And here came 2 cats and 3 dogs to prove she’d been wrong.

So back to the farmhouse, sweet smells, and bright lights.

Merry Covid Christmas to all and to all a good night.


By Lisa Huddleston





Gathering with friends to discuss books, to knit, to pray, to sing

Family reunions

Funerals and grieving together and alone

Will it ever be normal again?

Will we be able to hug each other and hold hands?

How many links will be missing?

Whose faces will we miss?

But God split the seas when armies followed.

He sent the manna to those who starved.

He saw our loneliness and came to be One of us.

And He canceled our burdens at the cross.

Death is dead.

Neither famine nor war nor virus nor despair; He will hold us in strong arms and nothing will tear us apart.

Death is dead, and Jesus Lives.

He is risen. He is risen indeed!

And the tomb is empty for Easter.

Eight Months Young

Wrapped in a black plastic bag

Like so much trash

Sweet Peanut was carried to the necropsy lab

But he was not trash

He was tender hearted

And loved to be loved

He pressed his knobby forehead into my palm

And delighted in a rough and tumbly rub

My knotty knuckles rattling across his poled knobs

As long as I pet him he stayed

Death came too soon but his sweet soul will be remembered

I only wish I pet him longer


By Lisa Huddleston

Where do the pieces of a broken heart go?

Do they swim through arteries or evaporate through pores?

One way is kept out of sight but lives forever within

The other is expelled and breathed into the vacant sky

Although I choose to let them go, some jagged shards remain

Piercing my lungs and leaving me gasping for air


By Lisa Huddleston

Where have all the fall flowers gone,

Where are the mounds of oranges and reds,

The musty wet piles that covered our heads,

From which we erupted then remade our beds,

Where are the colors today?


I used to say that fall showed us how beautiful dying could be,

But now I fear I’m wrong.

This year the leaves drop without color,

Ashy gray skirts lie around empty trunks,

No beauty to the dying,

Just ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

Where have all the flowers gone?