Juliet Fossey

Juliet draws on the local landscape and the everyday in her poetry. Taking a lead from small events and ordinary details, she builds up pictures using story and language to communicate common experience.

She is interested in collaboration and has been lucky to be part of the Beneath the Beacon project working with a puppet-maker, archivists, and songwriters and musicians.




Outside the air is dry and transparent.
I know this light, thinned to cold and stillness.
The day has stopped. Purpose is super-imposed
on the empty scene from memory. I lift
the green bottle I’m drinking, leaving
the inside a white absence.
Through the window, snowdrops flower
in the monochrome. I face the blankness
and long to be back outside.

The stone wall

has damp lips, leans in for a kiss.
Each time along this passage,
a stealing of body-heat that limits
my desire to move.
Back by the grate, I watch
the sap foam from green cuts
where the axe fell. Unseasoned ash,
burnable but reluctant.
Poor preparation when the sun shone
and the wall was warm,
and I was not apart
from your summer kisses.


The red tulip of the cock’s comb
weaves among the February Gold.
Crinkled greens unscrew the ground.
Primrose foretells the first muscari-blue sky.
Splashing in the bath, hen blackbird prepares.
I pick up a pen for the first time this year, ink
flows out, drying quickly in the warm air
drifting up to us from Africa.


Lengths of mist slink
by the stone circle
a toothed mouth
in a setting sky
the little fox
in clean orange
would normally pass
unseen in the bracken
but wet air binds
the ending day
to the coming darkness
and in these droplets
I catch it’s scent
betraying to my eyes
the tip of its tail
as it slides back
into the invisible

Poem from the future; Almonds

The Pesticide Reduction Programme
of the 2020’s has been a huge success.
Colony Collapse Syndrome prompted
a public outcry that saved bees across
the globe. With systemic pesticides banned,
Californian almond farmers, diversified
using a programme of hedge planting
and buffer zones. The freighting of bees
stopped, just like that. Protected instead
like royal swans in London Parks
or Hindu cows or Black Eagles.