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.






 Instinctively, I reach out to the empty side of the bed where once you were,

and there you are

in the first thought of the morning:

It was not supposed to happen. But it did.

It was not supposed to be this way. But it is.


I rummage through the closet trying to decide what to wear,

and, yes, you are even in there;

your favorite dress I wore the last time I saw you–

hidden in the back against the wall.

Your clothes still fill the dresser drawer,

But you won’t need them anymore.


So many things I have yet to relearn:

One for breakfast, or none at all,

two cups for coffee, then putting one back;

expecting to see you sitting in that chair–

you’re everywhere but there.

No matter where I go.

There you are.


Midnight memories never sleep. At two a.m. they haven’t ceased

when I’m reliving what I could have done but didn’t,

remembering the way it was and now it isn’t;

listening to the last words we said to one another

trying to be right and never wrong. 

What good is it now, now that you’re gone?


Even though I closed and bolted the door,

you keep breaking into my already broken heart.

How do I live when Life with you no longer exists

and Life without you is just a distraction?

Forever is supposed to mean everlasting

but the only thing that is lasting is the pain;

There you are.

Time races on,

unstoppable as a river over rapids;

and I am but a bystander,

–a myopic tourist caught in an autumn parade

 watching the procession unfold.

The city lights laugh–a deaf audience

applauding the artful silence

of your absence yet all pervasive presence around me,

 teasing tomorrow away, keeping it at bay,

bribing the hours to linger

that you may stay here longer.


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.


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.

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.