Coming soon – The upcoming release of Ronaye’s  book by British publisher in London, England; to be available on Amazon.


                 …with a broken wing
Expressions of
the Human Spirit

poems by Ronaye Hudyma


Whether contemporary, classic, or peppered with Elizabethan eloquence, this profound ensemble of 130 poems is not stationary. They move as if conducted with a maestro’s baton –fluid between the euphoria of life and love, the drama, the anguish of death and loss, with every nuance of human emotion spilling upon the pages.

They are poignant words written with the transparency of youth, gathering maturity and experience, evolving to wisdom, into the spiritual realm.

This is not just poetry. There are a million stories in each poem. Once for each of us. From the teenager discovering their individuality, the young adult challenged by relationships and the world around them, to the Elder denizens of Earth, who cherish their memories as veterans of life, this is a book to be read and reread, a keepsake to console, embrace and affirm your recognition of the truth within yourself that is already there.




When March was but a capricious child

We could reach up and touch the moon

standing on the brink of a ravine

overlooking meadows of evergreens 

where the trees stand tall and purposeful like yourself

and fields of flowers never die

 even though you pick them.

‘Twas what I saw when my eyes lingered within your look.

Youth’s years how few, 

Age, how sure.


I can feel the coolness of those Winter days

when we walked together—you walked so fast–

through countless seasons that whip our bodies

until they bend;

But through it all, we yet hold a proud head.

I miss those days when the snow freshened our thoughts

that spoke to me through all that I love and cherish

and all that I love and cherish speaks to me as the eternal in you.

These cycles of impermanence are the pivot from which I draw my circle,

the circle of completion.

Yours, darling, as ever life holds its value.

It’s time to go home.




The touch of Autumn, in a burlesque of Mardi Gras colors

betrays the leaves that show graying little heads.

The buds and blooms are gone.

No smiling faces to greet my mornings,

and the once lively dance performed for me

has slowed to the lethargic nod of age.

Time has tattled on my dear friends

and on me.

Your eyes posses me corporeally, completely in palpable gaze.

Your lucid look still lingers upon my eye lids;

My lips still fresh with the fullness of thy nectar sweet press.

Spring has taken leave

Summer the same;

But we walk through Autumn

and watch Winter draw her thick veil across a blue sky


When the Seasons are measured on my face
and settle across my brow
and the rattling bones of Winter moan
with bent and broken boughs
When its final breath and hoary death
is a shroud hanging o’er my eyes,
You shall not fade.
The masquerade is…only the form will die.

When Autumn looms,
confetti colored leaves start turning brown
in a grand ballet—their fated way of returning to the ground.
In the journey back from whence they came
–a secret lies therein–
You shall not fade.
You always were and will be once again.

On zephyr breeze, the yawning buds
will herald the coming Spring
with butterflies and buttercups
and mountain streams that sing.
For eyes to see and ears to hear,
lies the secret of all forms–
You shall not fade.
Within the seed you are the yet unborn.

Summer smiles on fields of daisies laughing in its face
trying to outrun the sun, but Destiny awaits.
What comes along, will also go within a world of change.
You shall not fade.
You always are, and you alone remain.