Sijo (/ˈʃiːdʒoʊ/; Korean pronunciation:       [ɕi.dʑo])
is a Korean traditional poetic form
that emerged in the Goryeo period,            flourished during the Joseon
Dynasty, and is still written today. Bucolic,
metaphysical and cosmological themes are often
explored. The three lines average 14-16 syllables,
counter-theme (3,5) and completion  (4,3).
Sijo may be narrative or thematic  and introduces
a situation in line 1, development in line  
2, and twist and conclusion in line 3.   The first half
of the final line employs a “twist”:
a surprise of meaning, sound, or other device.
Sijo is often more lyrical and personal than other
East Asian poetic forms,   and the final line
can take a profound turn.             Yet, “The conclusion of sijo is seldom epigrammatic or witty.
A witty close to a sentence would
have been foreign to the genius of
stylized Korean diction in the great sijo periods.”

They told me it was metal,
but I didn't believe a word.
But now I find it's iron
of the strongest, finest kind.
Ah! Here is my little bellows,
I think I'll melt it down.

The form of Sijo is basically the following -

3     4
4     4

3     4
4     4

3     5
4     3

Where each number represents a phrase of syllables, with a line break in between (space over about five spaces). In three stanzas of two lines each, the first stanza is an introduction, the second stanza is a development of the first, and the last stanza is a conclusion. See some of the examples of Sijo inside.

Sijo 1  

The rapid rattle fire, red tracers screaming in silent air,
woke me from half dream sleep--eyes open are better than eyes closed,
when ears are filled with black noise, and Victor Charlie wants me dead

Sun shines bright          morning has come
Warmth reaches out         grasping your soul

Tendency         to resist all
Eyes closed tightly         in denial

Heat on skin          awakens within
Today will be          glorious

Green candle     on the altar
for the Buddha,      Dharma, Sangha

Flickering     the fire shines
golden light rays     on brown table

Candle glows     bought at hardware store
and on sale!     so that's life

Purkyně lux lit lunatics conjure vignettes of geomancy.

There is mischief enchanting the wake: xenophagists fiending tricks.

For invokers, who bathe in moonlight, death is a good nights sleep.

It's in the scarred lines and scarlet gargles I often dwell
On the ugly, weighted, guttural g's of the word struggle
But followed easy and elastic by running tongue on teeth

What's my Problem, Doc? It's that simple-glaze sugary madness
That gingerbread, paired with lysol and lipstick: paired with street and box
Those perfect, angular crumbs that file my highbrow into conformity

The hair parts      on the right side
reminding him     of all the grease

that needs soap     for the haircut
in a winter     that has some hair

growing up     on top of the heads
of the people     who they are!

Coffee stain     on a white cup
painted with black     for fine art's sake

goes walking     within my hands
to the bathroom     for a cleaning.

"Wash your cup!"     the zen master said
and the student     broke on through.

I drank beer,     one double beer
and am writing     about nothing

because now     not knowing will
save us, today,      on top of this

chair with pen     in the unknown hand
that holds the ink    of knowing.

Shadows creep     across the floor
Stretching their hands     to clutch your soul

In the dark     fear reigns supreme
Always searching    for an escape

There's no need    to await the sun
There is only     your embrace

Music sweet,     happy birdsong
about loving     everyday life

here at home     in nirvana
which is the same     as what this is,

so, mind sings     a Great Dharani
which is the same     as music!

Hard to know the number of "friends" that live out past where lawn meets wet
Their dusk song speaks of a throng that participates post sunset
Slick wet sopranos sing a stream with sudden baritone splashes

No waste here     in the office
of poetry     where we gain some

wisdom, of     course, I don't know
what that is, but     I sort of do.

When the pen     runs out of ink, fix
the thing and then     write again.

In limbs outstretched like grandiose wisefolk, the eve's magnolian
Flame-feathered finch saw naught, went unseen: crown of tree, bead of red
Kindled prayers granted ageless passage to embrace the sun and kiss the sky

We put up big White Walls, Neon Lights induce a Heart attack
Our Demons Burn; Royals Unconditionally Young & Beautiful
We see only Blurred Lines: even if we Say Something, We Can't Stop

Gasping stars awaken in the break of night, ordained to defend
Gaping at the grasp of man, potent muscles tuned with starlit sky!
She gasps awake in the break of being, ordained to pretend

It was the day of the wedding of Mr and Mrs Epithalamium they looked quite the Heroic Couplet and full of Romanticism until the Englyn  Prose-d the Questionku ‘ Do you take this woman’ …  then in a wavering Iambic Pentameter voice the groom whispered ‘I do not know’ ….Mrs Epithalamium felt quite Dizain and tried to scratch out his Ruba’I, the  Clerihew stepped forward to comfort her but tripped over some Concrete and felt like a right Cowboy. The brides father, the Russian Chastushka, grabbed the groom and with a  Carpe Diem attitude threatened to Choka him.

            The guests all gathered in an Enclosed Rhyme with the best man making quite a Dramatic Monologue, the brides mother had her  Hybronnet knocked off her head and the chief bridesmaid had her Kimo torn in the affray. The young flower girls Haibun and Hamd both burst into tears as their Crown of Sonnets were totally destroyed.

            The Rev. Pantoum pleaded for calm, then repeating his plea for the melee to stop started making a List of the damage, quick as a Ghazal and with great Imagism he protected the Crystalline glass from smashing into Ninette pieces. Meanwhile the poor bride was in a state of Nonet anxiously trying to get past the twins Munaajaat and Musaddas, her Idyll life had been turned upside down, today was the day she had hoped to change her Name to Triolet.

              Alliteration watched while women wept, then stepped forward and with a Lyric in his voice asked people to calm down, he told everyone he had Naat come here to watch a display such as this and suggested they went for a hot Canzone to discuss the next move, Tanka and Tyburn readily agreed as they were very hungry and particularly as it was Free Verse it meant they could eat as much as they wanted. The nearly bride couldn’t give a Sijo if she never saw her ex again she was sick of being Kyrielle to and did not want anyone else’s Epyllion and with a final Than-Bauk stormed out of the club…


© 6/4/2013

It is said, “We humans are
        puzzle pieces meant to become one.”
But in truth we are damaged,
        shattered edges, disparate shards.
I will break my heart to fit yours,
        if you shape yours to meld with mine.

It is winter and it is cold,
or am i just feeling old.

The shortest day is past so it is time,
to celebrate anew with a party sublime
and it costs naught, not a dime,
the event once a year, one-time.

A great event, a party, an event, a Do,
catch up on events and acquaintances renew.
Chase away this cold winters blue,
with friends and food and a good brew.

This Saturday coming as foretold,
come celebrate this special day twofold,
to reconnect with friends of old
and to dispel the winters cold.

Sijo Robert Z

A field of bruises and fiery flowers spreads across the world.
The wounds forget to fade, the blooms refuse to wilt—
A burn and balm in equal parts; our love is the night sky’s cloak.

Regular training tonight, that's right,
nothing new, no fright i cite.
So we will start at last light, to ignite and incite,
your skills to manage conflict and fight.

But also your health and your might,
to improve, increase and help forthright.
So, it's cold alright, alright, but despite this blight,
come training tonight, tonight; Alright?

Sijo Robert Z

As the King sat parked, slumped deep into his throne,

His eyes ever vigilant, aimed at the open walkway ahead,

His orders barked at his royal guards, as his paranoia grew.

A Skill half completed is wrong -
making one weak and not strong.
A Journey half traveled is wrong
even when the journey is very long.

Like a word once given, can not be removed,
even if the task promised is disapproved.
When such a word is taken back; moved,
for a bad character makes; that is proved.

Unfinished journeys,promises and tasks,
make the giver of such, like a wearer of masks.
One knows not when to trust or doubt,
When such a one is about.

When you word is your promise, when given;
when your worth by truth and honor is driven.
For who speaks thus with compassion,
that one will rarely be out of fashion.

Sijo Robert Z