Martina Peschen was born in Germany and has the Dutch nationality. She has travelled as a trainer and lecturer in many countries, and also involved herself in photography and digital film productions. Having written her first poetry when she was 16, Martina found a warm welcome in the Achill writers’ group and participated in the University of Iowa’s MOOC writing program. She draws widely from her cross cultural experiences and broad creative background, with her descriptive style and ability to transmit sensual experiences enabling her to create atmospheric poetry and short stories.

I will Die Pretty

I will defeat death by putting on
the crimson lipstick you gave me
My wrinkled hands lined with the hem of the daftest silk blouse

Hair not curled but wild and untidy
As every day
Alive
No waxen face

I will die
Wild the way I am
No funeral parlor
No coffin
No queues of the beloved and unloving paying respects

Just me the way I am and was

In a dream
Death came to me last night

I died in the corner of my eye
It came
It sank in quick
And then all black

All black
In the darkness of that black
The infinity of stars in the darkness of that black

I will give you me

I will give you
Back
Me

My little mermaid

Oh beloved-Dearest

As you lie next to me
Your brown entangled hair
Floating around your face
Falling in waves
Like the seaweed covering the rocks

On the shore
Turquoise eyes glimmering
At Keem bay

Trailing the outlines of your wet glistening skin

With my index finger
I feel the shape
One turn
One hook
A zigzag
A Sea tangle tingle tangle

A Rocking curve
A swaying
Some bending

As the wind to the grass is the sea to the weed

I paint the colours
With my words
Not green!
The reds the browns
Deep from the sea
The leafy grassy blue and green
The bright light green
Some emerald
and then
White strands with maroon dots
All but pale
A crimson hue
A dash of peacock blue
Some clownfish orange
And bottled green
Cinnamon
Coral
The brownest Pink
Cerise with Burgundy

From me to you

Through caves and rocks
My words now ride
On silvery waves
Along the tide

Sunbeams playing with your naked greens
Your tingle tangle weedy hair
A joyous play at my feet

With salt on my tongue
And touching thighs
We kiss the sea

The Elderly Ladies Of Mulranny

The elderly ladies of Mulranny shake their booties with more gusto than the high heeled breezer sluts back in Amsterdam.

You always look lovely. You have such a nice smile.
Dresser room talk.

Compliment with no other intent than
Telling you that
What they see and like

Weathered bodies
Flowered showercaps
Formal swimming dresses

One particularly nice lady
with the sweetest round face
Splashes and sprinkles
with her never seizing
radiating
sunny banana shaped smile
from ear to ear

Jumping up and down
in the water
Rewarding all of us
with her smiles
To the beats of the same
Music

To which the breezer sluts of Amsterdam
anxiously pluck
the rim of their skirts
in insecure anticipation
of their display’s effects

‘Now stand on one leg
and turn around
move and shake those booties…!’

The lovely girl
with a bomb shell body
at the side of the pool
With her thick sexy accent
encouraging shouts

No judging
Sheer fun
Giggling
and twirling
The ladies and herself obey