| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
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| Written by Robert William Shmigelsky / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti |
| I Am Dryad |
Eyes as clear as melted mountain water,
flawless measures of length and width on face,
hair as green and long as in lands of grass.
Fair-skinned, snowy white like the tips of peaks.
Attached to the trunk of this tree at the hips–
able to love but unable to reach.
The sunlight and the fallen fruit I catch
serve to nourish me and keep body young.
The branches, the leaves and the tree itself
they are my clothes, my shelter–my body.
The roots stretching from the bed of my trunk
are my feet, the soil between my toes
the foundation which I lean on.
Surrounded by the sounds and sights of them,
the other dryads able to stretch and reach,
I find myself wishing for wind to bring,
as I watch them giggle, tickle, and embrace,
a seed to fall next to me, then rain to fall,
and its coat crack open and burst from in
a dryad, my opposite in every way.
In the heart of a forest thick and rife
but in a grove, a spot evenly spaced,
til then I find myself with the want and need
but not the strength or stamina to lift these roots.
Yet while I may lean–my head will not.
flawless measures of length and width on face,
hair as green and long as in lands of grass.
Fair-skinned, snowy white like the tips of peaks.
Attached to the trunk of this tree at the hips–
able to love but unable to reach.
The sunlight and the fallen fruit I catch
serve to nourish me and keep body young.
The branches, the leaves and the tree itself
they are my clothes, my shelter–my body.
The roots stretching from the bed of my trunk
are my feet, the soil between my toes
the foundation which I lean on.
Surrounded by the sounds and sights of them,
the other dryads able to stretch and reach,
I find myself wishing for wind to bring,
as I watch them giggle, tickle, and embrace,
a seed to fall next to me, then rain to fall,
and its coat crack open and burst from in
a dryad, my opposite in every way.
In the heart of a forest thick and rife
but in a grove, a spot evenly spaced,
til then I find myself with the want and need
but not the strength or stamina to lift these roots.
Yet while I may lean–my head will not.
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Robert is an aspiring fantasy writer taking English courses
at Okanagan College to try to improve his writing. Robert
has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for
the last seven years, but only now has begun writing for
others. Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies
include computers and history. He has a dry sense of
humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a
habit of making history jokes no one but him understands.
He is currently working as a certified residential care aide
(nursing assistant) in beautiful British Columbia to support
his writing.
Robert's work has appeared in Abandoned Towers,
Sorcerous Signals, Bewildering Stories and Digital
Dragon.
at Okanagan College to try to improve his writing. Robert
has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for
the last seven years, but only now has begun writing for
others. Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies
include computers and history. He has a dry sense of
humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a
habit of making history jokes no one but him understands.
He is currently working as a certified residential care aide
(nursing assistant) in beautiful British Columbia to support
his writing.
Robert's work has appeared in Abandoned Towers,
Sorcerous Signals, Bewildering Stories and Digital
Dragon.
