I like poems that are little games.
In the words of Peter Davison, “I like poems that are little games.” This declaration, simple yet radiant, reminds us that poetry is not always solemn, not always burdened with the weight of prophecy or grief. It can also be play—an art of delight, a puzzle for the mind, a dance of language that reveals truth through laughter and lightness. For Davison, the charm of a poem lies not only in its meaning, but in the way it toys with sound, rhythm, image, and thought. Like a game, it engages us, challenges us, and awakens in us the joy of discovery.
When Davison speaks of games, he does not mean frivolity, but structure, pattern, and play. A game is serious play—it has rules, yet within those rules, infinite creativity unfolds. In the same way, a sonnet, a haiku, or a villanelle offers boundaries of form, yet within them, poets weave surprise and invention. The reader, like a player, delights in tracing the hidden patterns, in catching the rhyme, in recognizing the wit. The poem becomes a contest between the poet’s cunning and the reader’s perception, and through this game, wisdom is passed along in joy.
History bears witness to this spirit of poetry as play. Consider Lewis Carroll, who filled his verses with nonsense, riddles, and strange creatures. To some, his poems may seem like mere games of words, yet within them are hidden reflections on logic, imagination, and the very limits of language. Or think of the Japanese masters of haiku, such as Bash?. Their tiny poems, playful in form, seem like simple games of syllables—yet within those delicate rules lies the power to open vast landscapes of feeling and thought.
Even in the ancient world, this was known. The Greek poets often played with riddles and word-games, testing the wit of their audiences. The medieval troubadours wrote verses as contests, sparring with rhyme and rhythm as knights did with swords. These poets understood that the game of poetry was not trivial, but sacred—that joy itself can be a doorway to truth. Davison, in echoing this lineage, affirms that poems which play are no less profound than those which preach.
The deeper meaning of his quote lies in the paradox that play often reveals truths more deeply than solemnity. A joke can expose hypocrisy more swiftly than a sermon; a playful rhyme can linger in the memory longer than a lecture. The game of poetry allows the mind to let down its guard, to receive wisdom hidden within delight. Thus, the little poem-game becomes a vessel for great insight, proving that truth need not always wear a heavy crown—it may also wear the mask of laughter.
The lesson for us is clear: in life, as in poetry, do not despise play. Treat your own words, your own thoughts, sometimes as games, for in that play you may discover truths that elude you in seriousness. Approach poems not only with solemn reverence, but with joy, curiosity, and readiness to play along with the poet’s design. For in the playful patterns of language lies a wisdom that is both gentle and enduring.
Practically, this means reading and writing with openness. Try writing a verse that rhymes unexpectedly, or play with a strict form to see what new surprises it yields. When you read, notice the games hidden in the words—the turns of irony, the echoes of sound, the riddles left for you to solve. Let yourself be amused, and in that amusement, awakened. For the poet’s little game is also an invitation to see life itself as a poem, filled with patterns, surprises, and delights.
Thus, Peter Davison’s words remind us: poetry is not only weight and sorrow—it is also play. And sometimes, it is in the smallest of games that the greatest truths are revealed. Let us, then, approach poems as children approach games: with wonder, with laughter, and with the joy of discovery that turns every word into a door opening toward the infinite.
TDThuy Dung
I love the idea of poetry as a playful activity that encourages interaction. But what exactly does Davison mean by ‘games’ in this context? Does he mean wordplay, structure, or a more interactive reader experience? Also, can we always approach poems with this mindset, or is it a more specific way to appreciate certain styles of poetry, like those that embrace rhyme or form in a more whimsical way?
DCdo chung
Peter Davison’s take on poetry being a game feels fresh and playful, but I wonder if this approach undermines the skill and artistry involved in writing poetry. Is it possible to balance the playful, game-like nature of poetry with its deeper, more technical aspects? And, how can we approach poems that may not be so ‘game-like’ in nature but still hold significant meaning and artistry?
TKPHAN TAI KHIEM
Davison’s view of poems as games makes me think about the interactive nature of reading poetry. Could this approach help engage readers who otherwise might find traditional poetry too rigid or difficult? But what about the people who prefer poetry that’s more solemn and reflective? Do we risk losing the depth and seriousness of poetry by framing it too much as a ‘game’?
LNLe Nhu
The idea of poetry as a game suggests a creative freedom in how we interpret it, but does this diminish the seriousness of the subject matter? Can poems that deal with heavy themes be considered ‘games’ in the same way? If the boundaries between play and serious reflection blur, does that make poetry more accessible or more trivial to readers who might prefer straightforward expression?
YTHuynh Vo Yen Thy
I really like how Davison views poetry as a playful interaction. It’s interesting to think of poems as games that invite readers to engage with them more actively. But does this playful approach mean that poetry should always be light-hearted, or can serious themes also be presented through the same playful lens? How does this approach affect the overall tone or depth of a poem’s message?