Losing Touch

Last month I posted about the Holmfirth Arts Festival next weekend, and included a poem from the anthology, Escape, that Holmfirth Writers’ Group will be launching on Sunday (Holmfirth Tech, 3-5pm). I thought it would be good to share another piece from Escape, and my good friend (and fellow HWG member) Sue Clark has very kindly agreed to let me borrow this lovely poem.

Losing Touch

To lose touch would be a sort of death:
we would plant in earth we could not feel, 
nature reduced to a painted set
with sound effects.
Smooth grass, rough bark of tree,
cool current in the stream would be unknown
through loss of tangibility.

Unsung, the power of touch
which feather brushes those we love,
lingering on the melting softness of
the newborn's skin,
fingering the rasping stubble of
a lover's chin.
Another's hand felt within one's own
tells the heart it too is feeling. 

Escape: writing out of lockdown is available at Read bookshop in Holmfirth, and at the launch event on 19 Sept (at the reduced price of £5). Tickets are available here. 

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