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.



Thy thoughts luminously illustrated by

smiling roses, bow before me;

And I receive them with the luxury of loving thee.

The vibrant blooms speak thy presence,

the scent of the sweet bouquet

pervading the air until I am heady on thy aphrodisiac.

Let me speak of love.

Let the words burst from my heart in exaltation of thee in terms of me.

Let not fear abide and primitive pride censor selves united.

Come with me, playfully–senses and mind delighted.


Why O Will, dost thou torture this mortal

with lofty visions? 

If wisdom be the prize pursued

then knowledge is folly, and all is but a mirage.

Pragmatic stones—fruits of defeat—form the foundation of a path less trodden,

not knowing what lies beyond.

Yet, herein lies its strength.

The Way would be weak with stones wrought

from the swell of victories easily gotten.

‘Twould crumble, deflate

as soon as a weight chanced to alight.

And once you embark down this tremulous course

you cannot retread, nor submit to remorse,

Though questions be many and answers confused,

rewards infrequent, and offerings consumed.


Our lives are but a portal through which we pass

and I be but a flare that flickers briefly in the sacred blue.

Spare me praise, lest it overtake me

and I  drink from the Lethean stream of blind ambition;

Let me seek wisdom, not for its sake alone  

but give me the clarity, the courage  to see what I have been shown.   

My hands are cold as I sit here in the park

watching the wayfaring clouds roam the sky.

Wither dost thou fly, O wing’ed vagabonds,

that ye neither hesitate nor linger?

What beckons to thee with so persuasive a finger?

My toes grow numb as I sit here on the bench

watching the Autumn industry ‘midst the birds’ migration.

Wither be thy destination, O precarious Pilgrims,

that ye neither condole nor bemoan this mortal’s exile? 

I must face Winter alone.



Nature is my physic, my schoolroom.

Wandering ‘midst her marvels,

I am favored with the comfort of her counsel.

Her grandeur inundates my heart

and restores my prostrated faith

back to savorous agency.

Thus shall yonder trees bend their boughs

helping me to climb the steep slopes of the hillside,

and the seemingly insurmountable precipice of Life.