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The Wild Lily Institute

About Emily

"Lend me your depth, I practice rituals . . ." - Emily Isaacson


                         


Emily's poetry, novels, and other books, including her art book are for sale on this site. Isaacson is compiling a book of poetry in honor of this year's 150th anniversary bash for Canada. You can expect it by December, just in time for New Year's.

                                              


Braithwaite

 

Aurias, on a glassy moor,

like spikenard, clutching to the bridle,

in full gallop, crossbow

and arrows in her quiver,

toward the moon-land shadowed tower.

 

The old wizard grafted several shoots,

in ancient looms, his tapestry grew,

jaded, royal, midnight.

 

Round the turn, the highwayman flew,

the honey from his tree, so sweet:

like milk and flowing lavender.

 

The masked crusader on his ebony horse,

his whip lay silent in its pouch,

the rushes by the river Silvermere.

 

One candle in the waxen bower,

the panes reflect her ivory stare,

the winter tower held her, brick by brick.

 

Her hair, like tresses to the floor,

white dress encircled with a crown,

her auburn, gathered ’neath the moon,

the stones of Kebar round about her.

 

From the mossy stone, enchantment grew,

the thunders of the willowers home,

their wildflowers, wreathed in velvet,

chants of lyre, concentric hymn,

the young and humble, sober, reunited.

 

The drawbridge bore them in refrain,

safe and mild, from many a mile:

wined and danced, well learned and bred,

sandaled, cloaked in godhood.

 

The knights around the castle bore thee,

valiant armor, fiery burgundy;

the green of pine, still in thy boughs,

the pleated wood, still innocent of thy cause,

though grief enclosed thee.

 

Silent moat, as dung upon the ocean,

strewn wee with golden grass and yule betiding,

the clip-clop of thy stable finery shod:

trod even, shipshape, upon the world’s vast mast

at the rampart of thine heart, Eternal Rose.

 

Little lamb, bleating, on the pasture;

in lichen tea, your simple battles soothed.

 

                 Emily Isaacson


   

Where the robin red-breast made its nest,

there was a sweeping fence

overhung with subtle evergreen trees

beside the timeless garden of cornstalks,

spindles of beans,

and square strawberry leaves.

 

From Breathing Space, by Emily Isaacson


Potter's Press blogs:

Hallmark

Sonnets

 

More about the Clay Road:

More about The Clay Road Tapestry

 

    

Wild Lilies

Emily Carr used to write about the fields of wild lilies in early British Columbia. If you are wondering what a wild lily is, well it refers in this case to any earth-bound lily in contrast to the gilded lily or fleur-de-lis. Your soul is like a prism issuing a rainbow of color. When you write, draw from contrast to lend depth to your work. 

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