Upon the tabletop, the tiny sphere
Is sent with breath, no paddle in the hand.
Two players lean, their eyes intent and clear,
Each point a battle carefully planned.
The rails contain the bouncing, drifting ball,
While laughter hums beneath the frantic blow.
A sudden gust will change the play’s freefall,
And fans lean close to watch its forward flow.
The score ticks up: eleven, yet by two
The victor must be crowned in measured round.
Each service blows, each counter carefully drew,
No quieter sport could hold such sight and sound.
From school gym floor to college bar delight,
The pinging sphere dances in the playful fight.
-
Author:
Matthew R. Callies (
Offline) - Published: February 25th, 2026 06:11
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem is about the sport of Blo-Ball. For further context visit https://www.topendsports.com/sport/new/blo-ball.htm
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 32
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: Fitness and Play.
Offline)
Comments3
A sport not know to me but sounds intriguing. Well written with good rhyme and flow just like the ball
The poem revolves around a table tennis game, focusing on the players, the ball, and the surrounding environment. It encapsulates the thrill of competition, the laughter of bystanders, and the precision required in the game.
Matthew, this is crafted with real care…classic sonnet form wrapped around something lighthearted and kinetic. The rule about winning by two adds authenticity, and that closing couplet lifts it just enough. “The pinging sphere dances in the playful fight.” is a fitting final bow. Well done, my friend.🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.