While the sijo poetic form is new to Poetic Asides, it is actually older than haiku. This Korean poetic form is only three lines long, but a lot is packed into those three lines. Here’s a quick rundown:
- 3 lines in length, averaging 14-16 syllables per line (for a poem total of 44-46 syllables).
- Line 1 introduces the situation or theme of the poem.
- Line 2 develops the theme with more detail or a “turn” in argument.
- Line 3 presents a “twist” and conclusion.
That’s a quick overview, but it can get a lot more involved. Here are some more things to consider:
- Sijo are meant to be songs, so this form is more lyrical.
- Poems can be profound, humorous, metaphysical, and personal.
- Each line should have a pause (or break) somewhere in the middle.
- First half of the final line employs a “twist” of meaning, sound, or another poetic device.
With me so far? Sijo are lyrical and meant to be sung, so even the lines have a traditional syllable break:
- Line 1: 3-4-4-4
- Line 2: 3-4-4-4
- Line 3: 3-5-4-3
This last part is a good goal to aspire achieving, but it’s more flexible than the overall syllable count per line and poem. Whew!
Here’s an example sijo that I wrote:
“Orbit”
I tell her we’re always alone, but she says we’re together
the same as the moon spins with the earth around the sun.
If they weren’t together, she tells me, we would not be alive.
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If you want more resources on sijo, check these out:
- A basic guide to writing sijo (from the Sejong Cultural Society)
- Sijo explained on Aha Poetry.
- And, of course, there’s a Wikipedia page on Sijo.
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Want more poetic forms?
The 2014 Poet’s Market lists hundreds of publishing opportunities for poets AND a fair number of poetic forms, including sestina, monotetra, ghazal, and more!
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Robert Lee Brewer
Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of Writer’s Digest Writing Community and editor of Poet’s Market. So he’s a little biased when he says it’s an amazing resource for poets, but it doesn’t mean that he’s wrong. He’s the author of Solving the World’s Problems and a former Poet Laureate of the Blogosphere. He’s married to the poet Tammy Foster Brewer, who helps him keep track of their five little poets. Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.
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Here are a few more poetic posts:
- Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 250.
- WD Poetic Form Challenge: Somonka Winner.
- De Jackson: Poet Interview.
ANGEL
I feel so empty and alone without her by my side
Then I know anytime I look up into the sky
She will always be there to guide me throughout each day and night.
FIRST TIME
So much passion inside that I can barely catch my breath
The warmth of his touch flows throughout my entire body
If this is what love feels like I never want it to stop.
MIRROR
As I see my reflection staring straight back at me
I can’t help but feel shame and contempt for the person I see
So stop listening to what others say for it is now a brand new day.
Charm
He always held that lucky buckeye in his right front pocket
Passed down from his grand father to his father and then to him.
He wondered, as he fingered it, whether the luck was good or bad.
Earth Sijo
How lovely, this planet, its surface shadowed, with forest green
and blue surround, the big harvest moon, the red glow of a setting sun.
For of this kind, who would think, that Earth came, from a big bang?
Earth Sijo
How lovely this planet, its surface shadowed with forest green
and blue surround, the harvest moon, the red glow of a setting sun.
For of this kind who would think, that Earth came from a big bang?
Looking up
Remembered lies on broken words of glass that cut through me
Through naïve and youthful days you and your words just walked away
You left me, but our pain is not the real story. And I’m sorry.
I planned to write comments on each piece I enjoyed but soon
it became clear that would take all year Instead I wrote these lines
to say all sijo seen today are clearly by Master Poets
The night sky…………
Lying here looking at the natural beauty around me
The stars in all its glory and the moon shining bright
Realizing with a jolt that my friends have thrown me outside the tent
I lie here; grass is my bed. I’ve chosen this place to stargaze.
Moon dark sky, stars brightly blaze; undimmed by much save these few tears.
I will stay, perhaps, for the night. I can’t leave your grave unmourned.
Diana Terrill Clark
I can see the change in your eyes, as you gaze towards the skies
In parallel the universe you see – won’t be itself again
When revolution is nature, how could I resent your fresh stare?
Lie:
Tell a Lie, but tell it Flat
Truth in Degrees is He’ll bent
It’s all the Same to Lie
Her mother dragged the kindergarten pictures out to show.
Her date froze as he looked at her in a brown, onesie with cap.
She fell in love when he said, “I will buy you chocolates daily.”
Cocktails
For our twins sixteenth birthday, we serve non-alcoholic cocktails,
complete with pink umbrellas, and novelty shaped ice cubes.
My daughter finds a penis in her virgin ‘Sex on the Beach’.
Upon us heap lots of pain for without it we will not gain
Open doors but blind our eyes make us look for stars in the skies
Beat our will with your biggest stick but we all know your little trick
VESPERTINE MELANCHOLY
When night is drawing closer, moving faster than light goes off,
then hearts are growing heavy, getting lonely, then thoughts are dark.
We’re seven billion, living in packs, howling at the moon.
Well done, Lucretia. I find myself coming back to this one.
I chose the 6-line style!
Murder at Chain of Rocks Bridge
Chain of Rocks your secrets keep
what remains beneath buried deep.
My heart bleeds forsaken one;
justice serves no retribution.
The mighty Mississippi weeps
over her watery grave.
Oops! It didn’t indent; frustrating! Sorry about posting it twice!
I am struck by your allusion to a weeping Mississippi. Such a strong image.
I chose the 6-line style!
Murder at Chain of Rocks Bridge
Chain of Rocks your secrets keep
what remains beneath buried deep.
My heart bleeds forsaken one;
justice serves no retribution.
The mighty Mississippi weeps
over her watery grave.
WHEN WE SPEAK, WE SPEAK HEAT
The old muse and I, expectedly (always), have been in
deliberations. Once we started yelling at each other
we had to take separate walks. Why does she challenge us so?
-JR Simmang, in quiet anticipation of the next PA Challenge
This makes me smile.
Evening Commute
Silhouette: vermillion sky, India-inked wintery limbs…
An unknown artist must have magic in his ancient pen nibs
Sitting in the twilight traffic: through my windshield, I trace the strokes.
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Ah, yes! Stark lyricism. Marvelous.
I love this one. Very lyrical.
Screaming
I’m screaming, spinning through the day, trying to find my way
Screaming, let me go away, I’m painted black all filled with decay
What would I do if it wasn’t for you, you leave me screaming
I feel a strong beat as I read this; it has a sense of increasing urgency.
“The gallery”
Invite me to your palette. Your life without dwelling or time.
Lazy stars paint in discord like hieroglyphs spilling over.
You are art—a spring of intrigue and I am your artisan.
Of all things, perhaps, as I read this the old song, Temptaton, came to mind. I love this piece.
FRUSTRATION
There it is again. “You are posting comments too quickly.
Slow down.” This happens repeatedly, on and on and on.
I haven’t felt this way since I tried swimming in pudding.
Dreaming of Sleep
Your breath breaks on the cotton pillowcase, as gentle waves.
I long for the peace that wraps you in dreams, contentedly,
but settle, instead, between inked pages, where dreams content me.
Hmmmm…. this one bids me pause. It has a peaceful feel but a double edge anyway, in my opinion. Very skillfully written.
This is elegant and nicely done.
Freefall
By David De Jong
Leaves are chanting, gathering, drawing their sabers with sharpened edge
Charging forward, in clustered columns, with battle cries of revolt
Angry winds shake their timbered fist, their members refusing retreat
I love this. It calls to my mind oak trees on the slopes of the Berkshires.
The rain, falling on ice and snow, bares frozen mid-winter soil.
The orchid, bowing over the windowsill, is a light in the room.
If I have to write today, which scene is going to be my muse?
Wonderful!
Moonlight
If I could hold the moon upon my face, let the light trace
exposed planes and hidden hollows, would your hand follow in its
quest? You whisper your assent, or perhaps it’s just the breeze.
Superb!
I love this one.
Sucker Punched
My dad has cancer—maybe two months to live. I knew he’s been sick.
I thought I was ready for whatever the news would be.
But that kind of ready? There is no such thing.
Ellen Evans 1.17.14
a “sijo” for PA
Oh, Ellen … there are no words. I’m so, so very sorry…
Thanks Marie
Having been on that road a few times, I can testify to the truth of your last line. I am sorry.
Music fills my last dream before I drift awake.
Each note is a rainstorm, a maelstrom in its volume.
I turn, I wake, as music becomes a traffic report.
(Amendment)
Music fills my last dream before I drift awake.
Each note is a rainstorm, a maelstrom in its volume.
I turn, I wake, as music becomes a weather report.
I love that turn at the end. Your change made all the difference, in my view.
Good twist, I like it.
THE END OF THE HUNT
As a tinge of orange flows along the morning horizon
and the color promises the coming of another day,
owl takes her final silent flight; day breaks with a final scream.
Haunting. I feel a double edge to this one, as well.
A Cold Night
There you are, reading my books, Neruda and Joseph Campbell,
in poems, of Bukowski, Dickinson and red wheelbarrows -
you find me, in meter and verse; will you ever read my own?
Spot on!
Father said you will succeed if you work hard and plow ahead
Mother said he did not know the modern world from his own past
Be yourself, do what you should do according to your secret dreams
Wow. This could be a mantra.
Misty clouds,sleepily, hover in the warm in-betweens
of the hills, – as I gather and separate my drifting thoughts
with the scrawny timber, half awake, — hanging on to love and ache
Oboboboy…. wonderful work.
IN HONOR OF MY DAUGHTERS
In the winter of our years we take pride in knowing
the tree of life lives on in your development and growth,
full of knowledge and purpose to grow and prosper.
I love this. It belongs in commencement ceremonies, in my opinion.
Kittens seem, to me, to be a form of meditation.
Hours pass in soft repose as gentle purrs massage like “oms”,
And random, sleepy thoughts crystallize into “chakra and awwww”.
I love this; so soothing.
Many thanks!
First Date
We had every reason to hail a cab — rain, uneven
concrete, expectations of a kiss in the warm dark back –
instead you flexed your fingers against my palm. We glistened like dreams.
Oh wow, I can feel the passion.
Ohmigosh. This one is amazing.
Indeed it is.
Vivid and passionate. Great one.
Very special.
The old man and I cut the pine boughs in silence
Red-brown below but the color of moss high above
Where the angry old songbird trills a mysterious dirge.
Oh gorgeous.