2011 Sejong Writing Competition
Winning Entries :: Sijo
Peeping, the single yellow head pops out of the fragile shell,
Scoping out the world for the first time, the chick peeps in delight.
Cocking her head towards me, she peeps, “Are you my mother?”
As I write this Sijo
Not a thought comes in my mind
Topics escaped, I am lost
What shall I write? I don’t know.
The seasons? Maybe small bears?
Won’t ever know. Sijo is done.
With comfort I membrane you with all my love held together.
On your rest I style you out, get you ready, begin your day
and what’s this!? You’ve strangled me, you don’t clean me! You lost me.
Carefully form each letter. Struggling to find syllables.
Hopefully I don’t resort to making up random fillers.
Here it comes. Cornucopia. Oh God I’m cheating. Whatever.
Another day with my brothers,
Always too much fighting.
Always hogging the TV,
Never brushing their yucky teeth.
Talking about Star Wars in the night time,
I hope they’ll grow up.
The Life of a Book
People pick me up, check me out
I’m left broken and mistreated
My pages rip, my cover bends, I end up getting thrown at bottoms of bags
I even get judged by my appearance!
Wow! What a life!
Walking through a secret garden
I explore more of its beauty;
I see a dying rose wilting
as other plants grow in size;
Why do I recall
the terrifying memories from school?
I’m a drifter, always moving with the wind. Never noticed
But always around here, sneaking through this Western town.
Tumbleweed. I cross this land in secret, swept away by the wind.
As a kid we would lie awake looking under our beds for them.
Then we grew up and realized something even scarier.
Those monsters we were so frightened about grow inside us.
Beautiful black hair, blue eyes, she lies next to me staring.
Is it real? Her perfection? I do hope this lasts forever.
She is gone. I wake to no one, deceived, hurt, and alone.
I moved from Africa to Asia to the North Pole
For the only requirement to travel was desire
And a flick; spinning the globe, dropping my finger aimlessly
The wind is, what the clouds blow.
A soothing gift, not for me though.
The wind is, something to feel,
Like a small fish, that you can reel.
The wind blows, on people it likes,
For it blows on you, not me, Yikes!