The Power of Poetry in Play Therapy with Hannah Young

Lisa Dion

Hi, listeners. Welcome back to the latest episode from the Lessons from the Playroom podcast. We are venturing into a topic that we have not covered yet in the Lessons from the Playroom podcast series, and I am very, very delighted to have Hannah Young with me to talk about poetry—everyone—not only the magic of poetry, but how we can use it ourselves as clinicians to support our own journey, our own integration, and also the usefulness of the work that we do with kids in the playroom.

With that being said, I want to introduce Hannah to you. Hannah is an accredited play therapist. She’s based in England, where she supports children, young people, and their families, both in educational settings and in private practice. She is a clinical supervisor, child-parent relationship practitioner, and trained in therapeutic life work. Passionate about the role poetry can play in creating a more meaningful connection with self and a deeper attunement with others, she writes poems as a means to capture and conceptualize children’s play—exactly what we are going to talk about today.

So, Hannah, thank you for joining me in this conversation.

Hannah Young

Thank you, Lisa, for inviting me. My absolute pleasure.

Lisa Dion

So I just want to jump in right away around two big things. One is, I’m curious about your own journey with poetry—have you always loved poetry? Have you always written? That’s one part of it. Then the second one is, poetry, I think, can be really intimidating—the idea of it can be intimidating for a lot of play therapists.

I also wanted you to say something at the beginning of this. So, listeners, as we are talking, if you happen to be one of those individuals that feels intimidated by poetry—by the way, that’s me—then we can be held a little bit as we move into the conversation. Wherever you want to start with those, Hannah.

Hannah Young

I think holding the idea of containment is probably where my journey with poetry began. A really big event—my 16th birthday—I lost my grandfather, who I was incredibly close to, very suddenly, in a car accident. Being 16, I didn’t necessarily have the people to go to or the words to vocalize those feelings.

Little did I know it, but poetry became my silent friend. It became a place that could hold those feelings—mainly anger, in fact. Anger that someone had gone and I didn’t know why. I was angry with the person who’d taken them from me. So the page held the burden of that grief.

Lisa Dion

Yeah.

Hannah Young

Little did I know at the time that that was a form of self-reflection, a form of narrative therapy in itself. Now people journal as a mindful activity, but at the time, it was simply a way to hold what I was feeling—to contain it.

Lisa Dion

Beautiful.

Hannah Young

And I firmly believe that a poem leaves a footprint. It stays with us. That moment in time has stayed with me since then. It formed a really important part of my journey with poetry. In fact, I handed that poem in to my English teacher at school. English was my absolute favorite subject—words were something I saw such meaning and imagery in, another place to go to.

Which is interesting, because I became a lawyer and then a therapist—different, but both working with words and language. And the reason I mention my English teacher is because I handed that poem in as an assignment, but she refused to grade it. She didn’t mark it. And I’m forever grateful for that, because in that moment, she showed me what poetry could be.

And I suppose, speaking to what you’ve just described—naming possibly the intimidation that people feel around poetry—it doesn’t have to be something. It only has to be something to you. It only has to have meaning for you, not for somebody else.

I feel like, although there’s this idea of cultural humility that we have to have around poetry—that we all have our own perceptions of what poetry might be, our own associations—they’re inevitably linked to our experience. Whether we were taught it in school and didn’t enjoy it, whether it feels obscure or privileged in some way—that we don’t necessarily have access to it.

I love the way an Australian counselor and social worker, Lynn Hoffman, describes poetry as “painted language.” Immediately, that conjures up pictures in my mind of what that could be—not what it should be.

And if we want to begin now by naming some of the tenets you work around—what are threats to our nervous system? The shoulds are threats. So I want to begin this conversation by explaining and sharing that there are no shoulds. There are no “right” ways of doing this—not one. There are many ways. And yes, we can get on to sharing how I work with it, but I’m not suggesting that’s the only way. There’s meaning to be made.

Lisa Dion

I love that you just named that, because as you were saying it, I flashed into—where did I get stuck around poetry? I’m going to name this in case it resonates for any of our listeners.

I remember learning about poetry in school, but it was a very structured way, right? There’s this many lines, it has to rhyme, it has to fit into this very precise structure. And I think that idea—having to fit creativity, this essence—because I do think poetry has an essence to it—having to fit that into something rigid, I think that’s where the intimidation came in for me.

I think that’s true for many. I know people who feel that way about art, too—that’s another place. So I love that that’s where we’re starting in this conversation, and I’m excited to hear where you go with this because you’re already planting a seed that—oh, no, no, that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about a very different kind of process around poetry.

So thank you.

Hannah Young

Absolutely. I think containment and compression are two entirely different things—really, really important to name. I think poetry has that freedom, that beauty around it.

I want the listeners to feel invited, not intimidated. And I suppose making that connection between poetry and our practice as therapists—poetry relies on ideas and metaphors. And so does our practice as therapists. We are entirely used to working with the unconscious and the unsaid.

That’s where I feel there’s a natural connection. That’s how poetry wove its way into my practice.

My grandfather’s loss, the lack of control I had around that situation—that same experience plays out in the therapy room. Many endings with our clients involve a lack of control. The child may lack control over why therapy is ending. We, as therapists, may lack control—sometimes it’s about funding, sometimes a child moves away.

Poetry came into my therapeutic work when I felt a system had failed a child, when there was fragmentation, and I was struggling to process that experience. So I wrote a poem.

That’s where it began.

So, I suppose suffering—our suffering, the child’s suffering—can be a really positive access point to poetry.

In my explorations, I learned about something in the UK called the Poetry Pharmacy. I don’t know if you have anything similar in the States, but the Poetry Pharmacy began with a woman called the “Emergency Poet.” She worked in the back of an ambulance with patients with dementia, delivering poetry to those who were unable to access it. Instead of a medical prescription, she prescribed a poem—for emotional ailments.

Now, it’s grown into something larger, with permanent locations and festival appearances.

It’s a form of receptive therapy, a form of narrative therapy—receiving a poem from an established poet, something that brings illumination to an experience, that helps you see things differently.

That’s what poetry has done for me in the playroom. It has enabled me to see things differently.

Lisa Dion

So powerful.

Hannah Young

It is.

Lisa Dion

Can I take—yeah. Take us into—let’s start with your use of poetry a little bit more. You talked about these moments of suffering or moments where something feels fragmented. Is that when you use poetry? After a session, do you write a poem about what that felt like for you? Or do you write a poem about what you think the experience was like for the child? How do you work with it?

Hannah Young

Through my research into narrative therapy, I came across a genre of poetry called “rescued speech.” This originates from two authors and researchers, Jane Speedy and Ehan, around 2003. The idea is that, in the therapy space, actual speech from the dialogue between therapist and client is taken, deconstructed, and then reconstructed into a poem, which is then offered back to the client.

The purpose is to amplify problems, offer alternative narratives, and provide different ways of seeing things. Through my research into this form of rescued speech therapy, I realized that moments of “becoming”—when a client is talking themselves into being, laden with emotion, repetitive, or entirely new—happen in our playrooms all the time. It hit me like a lightbulb moment.

So, I began taking the raw material from our sessions and composing poetry with it. If we don’t want to use the word “poetry,” then simply put, I’ve put words to it—language to what I’m observing. Sometimes, I use structure, but other times, it’s simply the client’s spoken words, the tangible details of their play, or the mediums they’re using.

It could be about what senses were heightened in the play. Ultimately, it comes down to our clinical notes. I look at my clinical notes, which, in themselves, are arguably a form of journaling, a form of mindfulness—a cathartic process of downloading information onto a page or computer, letting go, and releasing.

That’s where the process begins—whether for my own processing or because I feel it could offer a moment of illumination for the client. Either way, it deepens the alliance because I’m attuning more deeply to myself and to them. Through this process, I’m simply being effective and empathic. So, through this language and poetry, I’m not doing anything more than therapists are already doing in their daily work.

Lisa Dion

Yeah. Well, I love what you just shared—it’s such a creative way of working. Even in the playroom, we use reflective or observational statements, or we say, “What I hear you saying is…” to capture the felt sense of what’s happening. It sounds like that’s exactly what you’re doing, but through poetry. You’re leaving the session and creating something that says to the child, “What I heard you say was…”

Hannah Young

“I see you. I hear you.”

Lisa Dion

“I understand you.”

Hannah Young

Yes.

Lisa Dion

That’s absolutely beautiful. Another piece I want to highlight—you might be the first person I’ve heard describe case notes as something more than just a clinical requirement. Listeners, did you hear Hannah basically say that case notes can be a mindfulness practice? Not just something you do for insurance or legal purposes, but an integration process for your own experience.

And the biggest thing I heard you say—what if poetry is a creative gesture of “I see you, I hear you, and this is what it also felt like to be with you”?

Hannah Young

Absolutely. And it’s a gift.

Lisa Dion

Yeah.

Hannah Young

The children and young people we work with offer us a gift in every session. They invite us into their world, and when they do, they trust us with it.

Lisa Dion

Do you happen to have an example of one?

Hannah Young

Yes. I have one I can share now and another that might be interesting in terms of how I offered it back to a client.

Lisa Dion

Great—let’s go there next.

Hannah Young

This one is a fictional account because, as I’m sure everyone appreciates, I have a duty of confidentiality toward my clients. I would need to seek consent from children to share their poems.

Which raises an interesting point—who owns the poem? Ethically, I believe the client owns it because the details are about them.

This is a fictionalized account of a young person I worked with who had an eating disorder. She was also receiving support from a specialist eating disorder charity. I’ve named her Lindsey.

Lindsey’s relationship with food was intricately connected to the lack of control she felt in other areas of her life. She was powerless to affect change, and food became a constant—her silent friend, something to cling to. It was companionship, but it was also self-destructive.

I wrote a poem about Lindsey and my experience with her in the playroom. It’s called The Hollow:

The Hollow
Food is your weapon, the constant you know,
A silent friend you cling to, won’t let it go.
Feeling its presence all day and all night,
A silent friend you cling to, gripping on tight.

Becoming a shadow, drifting away,
A silent friend you cling to—they won’t let you stay.
Empty inside, your energy wanes,
A silent friend you cling—they share your pains.

Longing to feel, the hollow it grows,
The silent friend you cling—the one thing you chose.

Lisa Dion

So emotional. And Hannah, part of the emotion for me is that I know this is a fictitious individual, but I’m going to pretend that it isn’t. In less than a minute, I feel like I know your client.

Hannah Young

It’s an interesting one, isn’t it? The response on an emotional and physiological level.

Lisa Dion

Exactly. I don’t need to know the backstory—the number of siblings, where she lives, all the other information we tend to feel like we need to collect about our client. In feeling your words, none of that mattered. Well, I’m not saying it didn’t matter, but that wasn’t what was most important in the moment. What was most important was the felt sense of your client’s inner world that you brought to life through the poem. And wow.

Hannah Young

And it offers that distance, just like the toys do and the other mediums in our playroom. If we were to offer this back, there’s a distance, a safety in it. I’m never directly saying, “This is you,” but I’m saying, “I hear you. I see you. I understand you.” There’s a lot of research around how that person-centered and empathic approach—our attunement to our clients—helps them see their inner critic and shows that, as therapists, we accept every part of them.

Lisa Dion

Yeah.

Hannah Young

Poetry enables us to engage with that other voice.

Lisa Dion

Yeah.

Hannah Young

That other part of self. And welcome it in.

Lisa Dion

Exactly. Even before you just shared that last little bit, what was coming to mind for me was when you said it helps create a little bit of distance. I thought, “Right, because you illuminated a part.” There was that feeling of, “Oh, we’re talking about a part of self,” and then you used that language—”a part of self.”

Hannah Young

Not the totality of who this client is, but a part—a significant part, but still a part.

Lisa Dion

There’s something beautiful about that. We’re going to name the part, we’re going to speak to the part. Yeah, there’s something beautiful about that—naming a part of self.

Hannah Young

To show them that they’re welcome. Accepted.

Lisa Dion

Exactly.

Hannah Young

And I suppose it speaks to many of our clients who have experienced trauma, where they can’t let go of those parts of self yet because those parts have kept them safe. So it’s about honoring them.

Lisa Dion

Well, the simple fact that, as the clinician, you would turn around and share this with your client—just the fact that you took the time to write about that part—in and of itself means that part was important enough to have time and attention placed upon it. I feel that, Hannah. I have tears in my eyes. That’s so significant.

I mean, at the end of the day, isn’t that what we all want? For these hard parts of ourselves to be loved, acknowledged, and witnessed? That’s so beautiful.

Hannah Young

I think what you’re describing is so aptly explained by a poet called Adrienne Rich. She talked about how a poem breaks the silence that had yet to be overcome and how the writing and hearing of the poem profoundly alters both the poet and the recipient.

I’m a firm believer in that. I talk about how it leaves a footprint—there’s a mark.

Lisa Dion

So share with us now—how might you use poetry with a client? Specifically, do you write and then share, or do you ever co-create a poem with your client?

Hannah Young

Poetry has multiple layers in my practice. We’ve talked about how it’s a tool for self-reflection and how clinical notes are so important.

It’s also a tool I use to guard against compassion fatigue. If we hold everything in, our window of tolerance narrows, and our capacity to hold the emotions of the client in the playroom is diminished. So that’s the first way I use it—that’s where it all began for me, as a former mindfulness practitioner and journalist.

Then it evolved. I started using poetry to help me conceptualize the play when I was at moments of either endings or impasses in the playroom, struggling to understand what the client was trying to show me. I would use poetry outside the playroom, bringing together the raw material, the heightened sensations, even mind-mapping it—looking at the systems around the child, incorporating real words that had been said, those moments of illumination.

I’ve also offered poems back to clients. Just like in rescued speech therapy, when I feel they need to hear something and I think they’re ready—there’s a risk in that because it’s a judgment I make—but I will offer it to them.

I’ll say, “I’ve written a poem about this experience. Would you like to hear it?”

And I can share one with you—one I have permission to share. This client is no longer in therapy. She was a young girl diagnosed with ADHD, struggling with her relationships at school, struggling with friendships.

In her words, she was “too much” for people. Over time, she began retreating into herself, and her self-esteem took a real hit.

Then there was a moment of illumination in the playroom—a lot of cooperative play. We were using a ball, passing it back and forth, and she became alive. The energy of the ball—she was the ball.

So, unsurprisingly, I wrote a poem called The Ball.

Lisa Dion

OK.

Hannah Young

Happiest when you bounce,
Bounding, jumping free,
Reaching heights, scaling fences,
It’s your natural way to be.

Back and forth, up and down,
People pass you on,
Longing to be held,
You never stop for long.

Bringing joy and laughter,
A language that we share,
You fear you’ll be discarded,
No longer taken everywhere.

Once bold and bursting,
Over time, you pull away,
Doubting that you’re wanted,
Deflating, day by day.

Now you question what your use is,
If you are wanted at all,
You hunt for a new purpose,
To be anything but a ball.

Lisa Dion

Wow.

Hannah Young

So I shared that. And there were tears, of course. I still feel the same response—the physiological, emotional response.

And not only did I share it, but she shared it. She took it outside the playroom and read it to her family. Meaning was made in the playroom, meaning was made at home.

She was seen in a new light.

She saw herself in a new light.

And those reverberations—the ripples—just keep going.

Lisa Dion

Exactly. Wow.

Hannah Young

So there’s—inside the playroom, there are moments. Outside, there are moments in the systems surrounding the child that we can work with. Not to mention in supervision. I work in group supervision, and we’ve worked with poetry and shared. And I’ve shared in my own supervision sessions with my supervisor. And every time you read a poem, there’s a feeling—a physical feeling and an emotional feeling.

Your research has found that listening to poetry has similar responses to listening to music. So again, anybody who feels intimidated or threatened by the idea of poetry—it’s music. When we put language to an experience, we’re simply giving it a rhythm, a tempo. There’s a melody. And so, if it helps to reframe it in that way, then do, because we’re surrounded by music.

Lisa Dion

And I—I’ve been doing this podcast for many years. And you know, my job on this side is to facilitate the conversation. And this might be the first time when I don’t have words. And I think that just speaks to the full point.

I—I’m just left with a feeling in my body. It’s like my brain doesn’t want to go left brain, right? It’s just—I just want to bask in the felt sense of these two individuals. And what you brought to life through the poems—nothing else seems important other than that in this moment.

Hannah Young

And that’s why it’s mindful.

Lisa Dion

Yeah. Yes. It’s just really—it’s like I don’t want to go left brain. Yeah. I want to extend this out.

Listeners, if you’re having a similar experience that I’m having right now, my invitation for you is to let yourself feel it deeply. Feel your bodies. Feel your feet. Feel your heart. You know, if you happen to be sitting somewhere quietly listening, maybe even just pause this recording for a second and just feel.

If you’re out and about moving, pause. Feel. Yeah. Powerful, Hannah.

Hannah Young

I think what’s so important to remember about poetry—just like our work in the playroom—is that it’s processing. It’s never finished. None of the poems are ever finished. Just a moment in time.

Lisa Dion

Just a moment in time.

Hannah Young

It’s processing. And so if anyone does feel that pressure—that it has to be something, that it should be something—then it can continue to be whatever you choose it to be. Just like the client will leave your playroom one day and continue to process. It’s just—right.

Lisa Dion

Exactly. Our time with them is just that. It was a moment—a moment in their timeline.

Hannah Young

Yeah. We just—in a poem, we’re capturing a fragment of their experience.

Lisa Dion

So beautiful.

Hannah, you mentioned supervision. If people are interested in seeking you out for supervision or asking you questions about this or being guided in a process, I’m curious where they can find you.

Hannah Young
Yeah. I’d love to hear from anybody who’d like to talk more about poetry. You can see—it’s a joy, a passion, a beauty.

So, best way is through my website, which is beyondthelookingglass.org. Yeah. Please get in touch.

Lisa Dion

And any final thoughts before we go?

Hannah Young

I think I’d like to share one last poem, if that’s all right with you, Lisa.

Lisa Dion

Absolutely.

Hannah Young

A gift to you.

Because I feel like—there’s this rhythm and pace in poetry. I feel like it’s a tool for self-regulation in itself.

And so, Lisa, you talk a lot in your practice about the idea of rocking the baby—noticing the activation in the playroom, what’s going on for you as a therapist, what’s happening for the child. And so I wrote a poem entitled The Dance.

Cradled by your curiosity,
You lean into the whispers,
Attuning to the unsaid.

Capturing moments of possibility,
You grasp at the unknown,
Guided by your body.

A blueprint lies within.
Language offers a bridge,
Connecting heart and mind.

A clarity of vision.
A synergy between us.
And so the dance begins.

Together we feel the melody,
Committing a tempo to unfold.

Lisa Dion

Thank you.

Hannah Young

There’s a safety in the rhythm. And space to see anew. Words providing nourishment—a place for us both to grow.

Lisa Dion

And I don’t know if you remember, but my story with Synergetic Play Therapy began with a dance.

Thank you. Oh.

I am going to let the words and the tears just be.

Mm. Thank you.

Hannah Young

Oh.

Lisa Dion

So, listeners—wherever you are in the world, whatever you’re up to—maybe open up to the possibility of writing a poem about it.

Take care of yourselves. You are the most important toy in the playroom.

Hannah, thank you.

For more information on our courses and our classes, please go to synergeticplaytherapy.com and check out what we have available to you.

And as always, remember—you are the most important toy in that playroom.