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Jackie Biggs began writing poetry late in life after a successful career as a journalist.


Originally from Hertfordshire, she lived and worked in London until she moved to west Wales in 1986.


She is passionate about poetry off the page as well as on it and performs at many spoken word events and venues, both solo and in collaborative groups. She actively supports other writers as co-organiser of the Cellar Bards spoken word event in Cardigan; and is a former chair of PENfro Book Festival.


'Breakfast in Bed' is Jackie’s second poetry collection. Her first, 'The Spaces in Between', was published in 2015. Her poetry has appeared widely in magazines and anthologies, both in print and online. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.


Jackie reads her work regularly at spoken word events and is a member of the Rockhoppers (Coast to Coast Poets) performance group.  Blog: Twitter: @JackieNews




138 x 216mm


56 pages


£8.99 + P&P UK


ISBN 978-1-912876-11-2












Breakfast in Bed


Jackie Biggs



Love arrives in an array of flavours, scents and colours. Taste it in food and nature: in honey, ice-cream-sundae, salt of the sea, fresh ripe strawberries.  Explore the love of a small child for her parents, a mother for a lost baby, a family for their father. Romance and eroticism, love for self, feelings encountered when love is lost,withheld or twisted are here to experience too.



“‘Breakfast in Bed’ invites us into a world of shared intimacies, poems where food is love and love is food, comforting and sensual. Desire hovers over a bowl of strawberries. Times past and times present blend, as childhood memories and deep hurts urge the imagination to find comfort and sustenance in the world around us. These are poems for our times, when it is the small things that matter, and love above all.”

Maggie Harris 


“Precise and elegiac, these poems distil memories with an acute luminosity. Like a fly caught in amber, Jackie Biggs captures the chance moment or fleeting reflection in luscious colour and detail, resulting in a quiet but effective provocation of the senses.”  

Kaite O’Reilly



Breakfast in bed


In the morning when you bring me



it is the way you concentrate so carefully

to select each unspoiled bursting berry

        the ripest, reddest;


it is the way you watch

as you raise these gifts to my mouth

and place them between my lips;


it is the way your eyes see me clearly

as I suck and savour these fragrant fruits.


      I turn my eyes away


   red fruit in glass bowl on pure white sheet


then, it is the way you lick juice from your own lips

that wakes new light as our eyes meet.



Sex and death


Heart on fire

breath gasping

eyes wild

you shout –

some sound without words –

arms and legs flail.


Spasm takes your body

– all of your body –

and all of your mind.


The only sound

      blood rushing in your head

until   finally

you come

      to the point


where nothing else exists




                          let go


                                         into darkness.



Postcard to my father


I have wanted to go back to that place for so long,

to breathe the same air, to be where you were

when that final event happened, by the loch those

many years ago. Could you see the view as you

left us? Was the surface water rippled in the

breeze, or was it blue, flat and clear? Could you

see the pebbles underneath, smooth and round?

How green were the trees in that midsummer

midday? Did you smell the warm grass, taste the

minerals of earth, hear all the finches singing in

the birches? Did the golden eagle soar above the

white clouds? Did it fly away towards the distant

Cairngorm? Did you think of me? Did you wish I

was there?


I see you


violin strings over summer dew

larks rise above yellow meadows,  I see you


where buzzards soar into the far blue

turn to climb ever higher, I see you


as trees stand tall and fresh leaves tremble

in warm spring wind,  I see you


where a stream courses down a mountain

water falls over a cliff, I see you


look up in the quiet of midnight to

full moon and countless stars, I see you


when a rose catches sun as it rises

water silvers in the glass, I see you


in the outlines of trees traced on pale walls

as curtains drift in the breeze, I see you


in the morning when I study your face

sun and shadows play on us,  and I see you.



Alone and together


A city that snares

slow rhythms

(Federico Garcia Lorca)


A river flows through

afternoon’s slow heat

Lorca’s pace


              (together and alone

              juntos y solo)


babble at café tables

rises and drops into shadow

by the waterside


sun falls through trees

the flicker of fresh leaves

in green spring


               (solo y juntos

                alone and together)


wine is red, time is yellow

the rhythm of the river is ours

for this hour adrift



Woman sits on a beach


and watches the sea swell and sink

surf pushing in and pulling out

and she thinks …

how vast is the ocean

how massive are all the oceans together

how she rejoices in the swim

how much she loves him



Jackie Biggs2 amend BIB 1