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.



A bejeweled mosaic stretches before me in neon cityness

as I sit here a spectator in body,

participant without thought.

My spirit is buoyant, my heart eager;

My mind smiles with no need for tomorrow,

resting not in doubt, stopping not to linger

on the promises of the past.

How Life has changed. She has become more loving,

more beautiful.

My body mirrors her, my mind monitors her,

The “I” is her.


What can I say?

Your sorrow is my anguish, your words lay heavy on my heart,

sear through the obscurity of my soul

and prick the essence of all that I am

until pain transcends suffering, suffering transcends pain

to become an all embracing—what shall I call it…

a pulse?

Your thoughts resound, ring truth and touch my tears.

A burden?

Oh, so you know now.

Yet if I were without that burden, I would ask to carry it,

for it is that very burden that gives me an awareness of life.

The Final Humbling

They say when someone dear to you dies,

a bit of yourself dies with them.

It was like that;

the unmistakable smell of disinfectant and despair,

the sound of my heels clicking against the marble tiles

of an endless labyrinth

like a clock ticking off the seconds to eternity.


He looked like a giant oak tree felled in the forest,

its strength sapped, its boughs gnarled and broken.

It wasn’t just the grief and disbelief

boring and twisting inside me like an auger,

but the silence within; waiting for the answers that never came.

In that moment, time had stopped and left me standing there

drowning in a whirlpool of insufferable sorrow.

The wind blew a requiem, the rain stopped falling.

Then soft as a whisper,

a shroud of gray clouds moved in and draped over the Pacific.

Beads of water dripped from the branches of the trees

like a lady shedding her diamonds.

Tendrils of mist clung to the mountain’s feet

as I watched the ocean carry him away.