The View From The Summit

Author’s Note: Hello I wrote this poem in my ENGL 220W class during college. My inspiration for this poem is from my passion for volleyball and from the anime Haikyuu. To make the imagery more clear while you’re reading the poem. Image a volleyball player floating up to spike a ball. When people hear or read the phrase ‘The view from the summit’ they often think about the view from an actual mountain/ summit. But the view from the summit that I’m trying to make others see is the view when the spiker’s head is above the net. And they see the other side from the very top. Hopefully, that will make things more clear. Enjoy!

1 Minute Read


Time slows down, almost to a stop.
Surprised white eyes stare with intense curiosity.
As I walk onto the court, human iron walls enter as well.
The gigantic iron walls are blocking my view.
Like flies and mosquitoes, they loom and appear constantly.
Daylight sneaks through those iron walls like cracked windows.
Black thin strings isolate me from my fear.
Slowly, I fly higher than the tall and long white tape.
The red and white warn me from getting near.
It is drawn to me, like a magnet.
And leaves me with its past emotions.
I see it fly away with determination and fear.
The top lights up like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
It ends quickly and sets up for another round.
The view from the summit doesn’t discriminate,
all can reach it.


Hello, I would appreciate it if you would give me feedback on what you enjoyed and what you didn’t. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to comment or email me too! Thank you.

Ball Handles

Author’s Note: Hello. This was a persona piece I wrote in my ENGL 220W class in college. It’s about the life, feelings, and journey of a volleyball or in general any ball. Ummm… I didn’t try to make it sexual in any way but it could sound like it. Just know I had no intention to make this sound sexual. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy this.

1 Minute Read


They don’t appreciate me.
To them, I’m just a toy
They play with it when they’re bored.
I fly wherever they hit me
Towards with their hard hands.
If I don’t cooperate,
they also kick me with their stinking feet.
But some hands are soft.
They gently push me forward
And I float lightly to the other side.
Eventually, I will deflate
And I won’t be needed no more.
That’s the sad life of a ball.


Hello, I would appreciate it if you would give me feedback on what you enjoyed and what you didn’t. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to comment or email me too! Thank you.

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