Margaret Saine









Outside the window

my garden Is Is Is

nothing but is

I leave it alone

I let it be

let it grow to become

a savage wilderness

of birds and butterflies


Air free to breathe

the air of a garden

growing with green

in big voluptuous gulps


Twigs shoot up

leaves fling themselves


and fall in free fall

to the ground


Sun and moon

take a visiting look

and smile their approval



always right here

at home

and Garden

always far

always the hope

of a garden

expecting us



One thing all humans share

is the love of gardens.




Love Across the Divide~~ On Being in Rome


Confess no more lag

I’m in your time zone now (and adjust my computer)


The new and the old

–formerly lying

like sleeping dogs– invade me


like a mass a madrigal a symphony


And off my tongue roll noises out into the street Via dei Serpenti Roma the cult of always speaking in tongues:

EU-ropa– is it really

a good one?


The story of a love the story of a life a story of life itself lived between flame

and cold storage




Clouds   #2


There is no flat, there is no straight

when clouds take over the sky

their lush curves caress my eyes

as they dance by twists and turns

they budge and bulge

they loom and lumber

I breathe them with delight


Their vapors sag in swelling pillows

in puffy cloud bank sofas

streaked a soft crosshatch shade

[I had a sofa like that once]


Their hovering punches jut up

ice grey in heavy fists but sink

into plodding puddings until

they jettison their liquid ballast


Now their color mutes into white

now a creamy, shiny buttery hue

pristine and indirectly bright

a fallen snow on the horizon

a slant of sunlight shining through



Moving Company


I poeti muovono parole   Silvana Puschietta


Like big fluffy clouds

poets huff and puff

when they move

big words onto the

moving truck called poem


Among the standard

pots and pans

of assonance and alliteration


poets roll out delicate


like Persian carpets


Homespun lacy curtains

of chiaroscuro

are window dressing

hanging from the rafters


Poets cartwheel images

embedding them in place

and once in a while


like a big elephant

surges a grand piano of

indelible assertion


But most of all just clouds

float in, above and by

around the moving wagon


The unsaid

the leftover

the inexpressible

are left by the wayside



writing always writing

tiring and alerting


I’m the one

who is writing


deeply into my lap

while my heart is leaping

at your contact


sleeping windows

their pale and dark


looking neither in nor out


in a suspense

of light and shadow

night and day

waiting for sunrise


Amazing words

writes the


thanking the


How can it be?

The poem is


Whose words

The poet’s or

The translator’s?

I would say



a door or a sigh

exit into eagerness

of going away

eager for life

in pink

or orange

taking place on the fringe

slapping you or giving

a tender kiss


une porte et un soupir

la sortie d’envie


l’envie de la vie

rose ou orange

qui a lieu sur la frange

te claquant une gifle

ou un tendre baiser












Margaret Saine taught French and Spanish at universities in California and now lives in Los Angeles and Rome. She writes poetry, haiku, and short stories in five languages, also translating other poets. Her books in English are “Bodyscapes,” “Words of Art,” “Lit Angels,” and 5 haiku chapbooks, plus several manuscripts to be published. She has recently completed “As You Were Saying,” a dialogue with American poet William Carlos Williams, and for exercise writes 140-keystroke poems.


Articles similaires