Turning Bulbs into Tulips: a lost poet or a lost post

The leaves fall gracefully to earth, and the trees this year are a tapestry of brilliant colour.  I am gardening today and planting the tulip bulbs.

--Emily Isaacson

The miracle of growth and nature reminds of the miracles I have seen, including this picture of a geranium without the soil. It literally grew for six months just like this with no earth, in a clay pot. How like God to grow us at times without what we need, in clay pots. So we know the power is not our own. 

"For we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." 2 Corinthians 4:7-8 NIV).  

When we love others it is breakable; it is delicate and in the modern world, can easily be broken. The remnants of our lives can be marked by broken relationships if we choose to see them as failures, instead of stepping stones. They are like the stepping stones of the Japanese Garden at the Butchart Gardens if we use them as life's lessons, to walk over our pond.

I have used my new understanding of Zen Poems, to write a few of my own. I am learning to cultivate my own silence, to be rich in the faith that does not let us drown while walking on water like Peter. I am submitting my poetry next to small presses with the hope of publishing small books of a modest collection. 

In the meantime, you might want to hear about the beloved cat Coco that I started this blog by writing about. She was taken to the vet on March 9, 2017 as an emergency case, and was pronounced dead on arrival. She died after 15 years of old age, with several complicating medical conditions. I gave the vet a copy of my book A Familiar Shore, with the poems about her marked in it. 

I will remember how she went outside one day, and I looked out the window and she was on the roof. What a character. I saved one of her whiskers.

After she died, I realized I had spent eight years talking to my beautiful Siamese-Persian cat, with its joys and comforts, at the expense of human relationships. (Like the previous owner said, you will never be without cat hair again.) I decided to make deeper friendships with people, and immediately started writing and messaging my friends. I turned to social media, and began posting regularly on facebook, to keep contact with my close friends, and relatives in California. I rejoiced at their response to my attempts at being more social, and their quaint replies.

I have made more close friends, I have learned to love people, regardless of how important they think they are; I  now have years of friendships to my credit. These are the treasures in life that will endure; the gems of the crown of Abbotsford. It is all part of building community around Koinonia; of being a community builder in the spiritual realm. Jesus is building a house for us in heaven; we can only imagine the builder, and the stone that the builders rejected. It has become the Chief Cornerstone. 

I can hear the builders down the street from my small condo in Abbotsford, and it reminds me daily that I am kind of like the soul of a geranium that had no dirt.



Turning Straw Into Gold

There was a time when I would collect journals and pictures, and they were just for me. I wrote journals from age nine, and my mother's stack of childhood journals inspired me. I read Anne Frank around age nine, and so my first journal was a long descriptive account of grade five to Kitty, Anne's childhood friend. I kept writing journals until I was in university, and then I switched to writing songs. I had a Roland keyboard, and I would write about a song a day. I wanted to write songs that were melodic and singable for corporate worship. A few times they sang my songs in church and for the worship at TWU.     

Finally I was discovered at a party in Seattle by a producer and he offered to make me a recording, without having even heard any of my music. I employed a friend who was a Jazz singer and we went back to Seattle and made a demo in one day, staying there until midnight. This was the demo through which I secured a CD contract and had two of my songs published by Vineyard Music. Keep in mind that I was only the songwriter, not the singer. My good friend Sherilyn Keller was the worship leader who did the recording.

By the time I graduated from university I had two songs out on the CD The Cross, and one of them ended up on the radio. It was then that I was offered the option of recording more songs with both Vineyard and Integrity. Unfortunately I never followed up on their offers, and never sent them more songs. I did not really have the backing of enough good people in the industry to even make another demo. The original producer moved to Nashville, singing love ballads to me all the way out there, and wanted me to go with him but I refused.         

Although I wrote songs, I refused to write any poems at all during my university years in Seattle. I wrote one at Christmastime but that was just for my friends and relatives. It wasn't until 2002 that I began writing down my old poetry from memory and began making them into a book for my niece. I had burned all my writings and my journals in 2001, and thought that was one way of ensuring they would never be read by anyone, but also, never published. I went out into the world, taking nothing with me but my guitar and a suitcase. I had nothing else at that point, but wanted to live life simply.

All the poems I have published now have been written down from memory or composed since 2002. There are over 1800 poems that I have published in books since 2011, when The Fleur-de-lis was published. Do I write songs anymore? Not very often, but I see them in a pile and hope one day they will be used a corporate worship because they have stood the test of time, and are still relevant. I evolved from songs into poems because it needed only a pen and paper to produce. Art is often a very singular activity in its creation, but now I see more opportunities for music turning up. The church I go to has built a sound studio to record music. They are asking for more songwriters; and when they ask for laments I know they are serious. That is seriously Emily.



New Book Coming This Year

What does the lily mean to poetry? There is a lily in my poetry, particularly the Fleur-de-lis Vol II, that is coupled with the Rose. I meant for them to refer to Duchess Sarah Ferguson and Lady Diana Spencer. There was a moment in time that I wrote for royalty, but now the poetry has become the possession of everyone. There are still the old volumes available, but that publisher has gone out of business, so now I must start over with a new publisher. This year I am releasing a volume of my collected works, with 130 new poems that I wrote in the last year especially for this volume. Dove Christian Publishers will be releasing this project, which is dedicated to Sophie Gregoire-Trudeau. 

My new book, Hallmark: Canada'a 150 Year Anniversary whose booksite is attracting visitors each day by the hundreds, and whose featured music mirrors my best poem: The Ballad of the Oboe Player (the story of the oboe player who played Gabriel's Oboe) is live to generate interest in advance. If it makes you teary, well that's the best part.

You may have to wait to read this poem, but in the meantime now you can log into: www.hallmarkcanada150.com

The Wild Lily Institute is the new name we merged into last year, and again the symbolism has more to do with Emily Carr's symbolism than mine when you look at the history of British Columbia and her fields of wild lilies. We cannot just say they no longer exist, for they are a celestial appearing in this time.

Visit the Wild Lily Institute at www.wildlilyinstitute.com

Yours Truly,

Emily Isaacson


O Canada

The grey jay now flies as Canada's bird. National Geographic has declared a winner. This was the year I wrote five bird poems for the top five birds from the thousands of comments on the National Geographic site. Thank you Canada for writing so much about each bird. There is a wealth of both information and personal experiences with these birds' unique natures. 

Dear Canada, we are patriotic once again. With everything from Canada t-shirts, to red and white smarties, there is a 150 year anniversary logo everywhere you look. I am chiseled like marble, polished like rubies, and poured out like maple syrup.

I will not forget to ask people to join the revolution in a year of change. This is the revolution song that was recently published in O Canada: Celebrating 150 Years, by the Fraser Valley Poets Society.

The Weeping Branch

O country of sweet sheaves, hear my humble invitation;
the branches are weeping.
There has been a struggle in the baser realms,
the virtue of the earth has been shaken.
I bring with me the spirit of Canada,
a pleading to your noble station.

The world has seen your heart despised.
I spoke to you and you replied.
When I sing of revolution in the dead of night,
you hear.
Then answer me with all your might.

This is the moment of the turning,
and it is not for the weak;
much is at stake.
I prophesied the sanguine salt was guileless,
and chunks of coal were your revenge in darkness.
The oyster sun spoke over the sea,
churning the machinery of democracy.

O Canada:
I was born into the quiet moments of Windsor,
I am a prophet under the order of Samuel.
Canada’s gates will never be shut;
I am last to call my people home.
I am in it ’till the bitter end.

Sincerely Yours,



New Poetry in a Year of Celebration . . .

Well, it has been a while since I have felt the ponderous weight of this blog. And here I am, dear friends again. Much has happened since the publication of the themed Fleur-de-lis. Many other books of prose poetry have followed. If some of you are waiting to get your copies of these slender books of spiritual weight, you can now buy them directly from anywhere in the world through our Potter's Press online bookstore.

My ancient visions see once more the light. I am growing wise quickly but it is a maturity I don't despise (including grey hairs). At 29 I had a mid-life crisis when I realized there was no book by my name in print. The problem was no one even knew I was a writer, as I had not revealed it to anyone. When I was growing up, I simply called creative writing "procrastinating." Alas! My family was shocked when in 2005 I decided to become a full-time writer and said I was writing a book. I even wasted time by sitting at a desk all day staring at a blank page. Then I turned to automatic writing and channeled a lot of dead poets.

When McMaster's interviewed me last year as a Canadian writer, it turned out I was suffering from an undue amount of persecution. I mentioned Ernest Hemmingway as an example of what it feels like.

I started writing down my poems when once of my relatives asked me to put them down for my niece. Now she is nineteen, and does she read? Hardly. She is a cook though. Everyone else reads. People constantly mistake me for my niece; they even exclaim, "You don't look a day over nineteen!" And they think I am a cook.

I am a brand ambassador for a company that takes on contracts from food companies. I have done this for five years now. This means I talk to hundreds of people every weekend. Rarely when I am talking to someone does poetry come up. But there are a few chosen people who see beyond. They want to know what are the books I write. Soon they will find out. We are leaping across Canada this year just in time for the festivities.

Yours Truly,



The 40th Anniversary

My parents' 40th anniversary was last June, and we had somewhat of a family reunion.This was a wonderful time for my family to meet again with all the kids and grandkids at the Headley Homestead. Now you can join in the festivities by viewing the 40th anniversary website or video here  that I made.


Two Olive Trees

Jason and Medea by J.W. Waterhouse

The two olive trees is a reocurring theme in my poetry, and refers to the two prophets in Revelations 11 who stand before the God of the whole earth. Since I was born on the eleventh, I believe this prophetic image stands in reference to the poetry and music I write, even through I am a woman. This position would not normally be relinquished unto a woman, but the Lord has shown his favor to me and I have to live up to its high expectation of how I should relate to others in the way that Christ has ministered unto me. This is not an easy role to be in, or one without its great expectations, but I know that if we continue in the way of life, we will reach our end destination, which is heaven.

The two prophets stand over the prophetic church of the end times is a spiritual hierarchy, which means, their words are most important and carry the most influence. Everyone would be tortured if they were to suffer, and so they must be protected before the Lord from evil influences. I believe in this way, they are the patrons of the persecuted church and are in constant prayer for the blood of the saints, like sweet incense.

May the Lord carry out his work with his two servants always at his side, that the seven lampstands may be filled with oil, in continuous praise. Whenever someone insults or tries to injure his prophets, fire comes from their mouths and consumes their enemies. The people of the Lord, who fear him, have the most respect for his prophets, who are not afraid to speak his words, and bring atonement for the sins of Jerusalem.

May the Lord hover even now as a mother over her people and shelter them with her wings from the words and accusations of the evil one. May she gather her flock, and keep the lambs from the slaughter of perdition. May she birth children with spiritual eyes and ears that are responsive to the work of her hands, and worship in spirit and truth.



Postmodern Poetry

Postmodern poetry is the means I have held to not only in writing The Fleur-de-lis, but in exploring with poetry many realities and characters with their own viewpoints, narratives and soliloquy.

I was overwhelmed at the many genres and styles I was working with in writing this book, but how they came together and it became one vast collection is more in the editing process and skilled editorial guidance than anything. I was awed at the result and its genius from my publisher and editors.

Of the postmodern genre: I am developing a fascination for  understanding its fragmented narrative and undermining of its own author's credibility. To quote: "Both modern and postmodern literature represent a break from 19th century realism. In character development, both modern and postmodern literature explore subjectivism,  turning from external reality to examine inner states of consciousness..."

My use of irony, playfulness with words and black humor have yet to be discussed... for example "Thistle In A Vase"... in reference to Vincent van Gogh, whom I learned in a televised documentary married a prostitute. This use of irony, by immortalizing the thistle for example, as van Gogh would do in his painting is further played out as a theme throughout the third volume, whereupon it is also Scotland's national flower. There is the "Order of the Thistle"...  a depiction of a poet being hard-pressed and persecuted. I think in all, the end point of my book will attest to the fact that persecution and ridicule can bring out the best in oneself, particularly through the refining process of suffering. I have tried to paint suffering as a redemptive quality, but this breaks from modern day comfort and convenience as being deserved by those who buy...  and the book definitely came out as a middle class item, decadent, antique-themed, reminiscent and romantic.


Winter Book Trailers

Hello Friends,

Curl up with that mug of hot chocolate
on these cold snowy days of December ...

Now you can view my book trailers anytime:



The Legend of The Fleurs de Lys

Well I have received a record number of Christmas cards this year, and among them, a card with the legend of the fleurs de lys on the back. I have posted this on my Institute website because I think this information is very significant about the nature of how history repeats itself: 

The Fleurs de lys:  Commemorating the marriage of the Duke of Bedford to Anne of Burgundy, the manuscript was given as a Christmas gift to their nephew, nine-year-old Henry VI in 1430.
The British Library, Add. MS 18850, f.288v
My book the Fleur-de-lis was given to Prince William after his wedding to Kate Middleton, and the original manuscripts were sent to him as Christmas gifts in 2005, 2006, and 2008. 

This book was published by Tate Publishing (2017 note: Tate Publishing is now in transition, and the book is not currently available).

Wishing everyone a Wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year from the Emily Isaacson Institute!



The Magical Box of Candy

When I was young, there were five children in my family and we were read to each night before bed. We got to choose a "fairy story" to be read by one of my parents. It just so happened one night that we read a story about a little girl who received from the fairies a "magical box of candy". As long as she did not eat any other candy all day, she was allowed to choose one candy from the box and the fairies refilled it for her. My mother thought of the idea for us to have a magical box of candy as well. As long as we did not eat any candy all day, every night after dinner we were allowed to choose one piece of sugar-free candy from the box. The sugar-free part went along with her years of well intentioned sugar-free baking and healthy eating to encourage our wholesomeness. So there we were, and it seemed like a wonderful piece of fairy magic had descended on our household too. No more sugar candy of any sort, but a magical box that replenished itself... this went on for quite some time to our delight.

Now as an adult I can say that I run a sugar-free household myself. With all the sugar substitutes you can find today at health food stores, such as molasses, agave, maple syrup, fruit juice, honey, stevia, or xylitol, it isn't too difficult to create recipes that taste just as good, without the refined white sugar. Even whole cane juice can be purchased for 1:1 baking exchanges, or evaporated cane juice, which has the texture of icing sugar. Children do much better in school without the sugar overload so common with pop, candy, cake and even bread containing sugar. To teach them healthy eating choices is something they will carry with them for a lifetime. You can make the very same products without sugar, and they taste just as good. Buy healthy snacks in health food stores instead, and you will find, as I say in my grocery store tours, "the items you buy in a health food store are generally made with ingredients from the health food store..." and you will notice these common substitutions for refined fats, refined sugars, and refined flours.

To learn more about eating healthfully, check out my food program online: www.therainbowprogram.com and take your tablespoon of molasses daily for both iron and calcium.



The Dancing Years

A couple times a year I have the opportunity of attending my niece's dance recitals at Chandos Pattison Auditorium. The company is called Dance Barn Studios, and is located in Fort Langley. What dedication of some to pursue such talents to their end, in both performing and teaching the beauty of dance to others.

I started taking ballet when I was five, and attended dance classes until I was finished high school. As a teenager, every week I would take the bus downtown to the YMCA with my tights and ballet shoes and practice at the barre. This for me was the high moments of a young girl's life, the dedication and resilience needed to be graceful on stage, in the studio, and in person. It spills over into every part of life if you are a dancer, if you are meant to dance. The dance captured me as a ten year old, and I wanted to be part of the National Ballet at a young age. I read books about Anna Pavlova, the young ballerina, and tried to copy difficult dance moves. To master them I would practice in the swimming pool, which slows down movement and articulates the motions, and it worked magic. The older girls I knew who could do ballet moves that I could not, I copied underwater until I could do them also.

I was part of a performing dance troupe in high school, and we practiced and performed locally and did dance numbers at churches, schools and  fairs. I also did several summer intensive performing arts trips, and travelled across Europe doing song & dance in 1992. I spent a week in Spain during the '92 Olympics and three weeks in Germany, doing three performances a day. Back then, I was adventurous and it gained me a solo role, so I opened each performance singing the opening song.

By the time I was in university, I had leaned a fair amount of Israeli dancing and taught Israeli dancing to a small team of TWU dancers to perform for the school and at a few other venues. Dance has and will always be my choice instead of group sports or other exercise: it is beautiful, expressive, cathartic, and brings discipline with a measured practiced result.

When in doubt, dance to liberate the soul in every dimension. 




I grew up in Victoria, a very British city, full of tourist attractions and the honeymooners' seashore. “The Dashwood” mentioned in my book, “a bulwark beside the shore”, is a wonderful manor bed and breakfast that I have stayed in several times, located on the sea front and park ridge of the downtown, a veritable destination. I have always loved the poetry of Victoria, the place of flowers, a remarkable change from Ontario where I was born. The first thing I noticed as a six year old in Victoria was the daffodils, then the flowering fruit trees, then the flowering baskets downtown, and then the Butchart Gardens. Our family home always had a front flower bed profuse with daffodils. How precise that now my humanitarian motto is “one daffodil per village” with the intent to reach out to every country and facilitate a holistic infrastructure.

The fine fragrance of poetry, summed up in "The Fragrance of Glory", speaks of a time of freedom, a time when heaven prevailed over the things and places of earth. And his Kingdom, as it touches our world becomes manifest in the spiritual dimension of visiting another country and facing its poverty, then returning home and facing our own. For we tap the riches of his glory among the poor, in their understanding of a spiritual world which feeds them. I left my life of nobility and title once, and went to live among the poor. I was the Madonna of the streets. I lived amongst the street people of Maple Ridge for three years, and conceded to their request for counterpoint. I played the grand piano for the hungry and homeless of the Salvation Army over the lunch meal.

I believe that in this time there is a prophetic harvesting of the earth, and the hungry are just waiting for something to draw and ask them in, to fill their souls with a spiritual meal of satisfying dimensions, to challenge their dreams, and call out their destinies. If I was Mary, birthing a son in this culture I would say that “He is innocent” of that which is evil. The premise of my book, was in part, that I have suffered, and I am also innocent as a child of God. No one wants to suffer their own martyrdom though, we would prefer anything else, yet we must not fall away in times of persecution. We must pray that he will keep us blameless and true to his purpose, so we become the fullness of his dream in us.

I have chosen to stay in my spiritual journey alongside the nuns of St. Clare, and in many ways my life has emulated that of St. Clare’s: following the path of chastity and the convent, shutting herself in the church and choosing a life of poverty and hard work. In this way, I also believe the flower St. Clare holds in her picture, if that of three lilies, represents THE FLEUR-DE-LIS.


Bringing In The Sheaves

Willful, and of the roots
of a great tree,
from every continent,
they shall, singing,
converse with the morn.

Seeing how they were, captives,
freed, and in their prime
harvested from earth’s mortal
snare and the toil of sweat.

Here, they shall be of one love
to rival youth, and the fortune
of the rich.

The poor shall gather in their arms
a woman of finest comely
gesture, and on a stage as a ballet,
she shall bring the ancient sheaves
to a royal coronation.

Emily Isaacson



Olive Tree

Syrian Pear


Yellow Wild Pea

Star of Bethlehem

Sea Daffodil

Sour Cherry

Rose of Sharon

Rice Millet

Jerusalem Buttercup

Acacia tree

The flora & fauna of Israel show its remarkable beauty in all seasons.
Israel has a beautiful legacy, as the country of the Jewish race and deserves to be protected: both spiritually and physically.
From the place of Jesus' birth to the founding of a world wide religion that has for its liturgy a bestselling book: The Bible... this country had appeared in the news recently as the country that Canada protects. These allies align as Jerusalem becomes the focus of the end times, the city in which Christ was crucified.


Queen Anne's Lace

The story tells us
of a Queen in a royal garden ...
and her riveting court:
to equate justice and liberty

to remind us to hope

for a future

that builds on dreams

and writes


House of the Rose
The wild carrot flower
grew in the royal garden,
and the Lady of Denmark,
consort to the King,
was an expert lace maker.

She challenged the court ladies
to create their best lace,
in the fine and dainty
fashion of the garden flower,
antique white.

No one could rival
the Queen Anne’s handiwork,
so fair and lovely
was her pattern: as the white
florets of her lace collar.

As the legend says,
she pricked her finger
and a single drop of blood
fell in the center, coloring it purple
and so it remains to this day.
Emily Isaacson


A Tapestry of the North

Something is always
simmering on the black stove
and in the journal of time;
she wrote of
the shining northern purity
of a female icon—
love and sincerity
in the figurative,
stargazing in the field,
weeping at transgression:
the sorrow of her eyes,
the sweetness of her mouth—
Stretched on a loom,
the huge white cloth
of the North;
we were the threads,
short and long,
our ways
stretched across it.

North as a place
in the mind
where a safe house
with a much-needed

Blackcap and
red huckleberry,
nettle and fern,
cascara, buttercup,
burnished hazelnut,
and red rose hips.

Indian plum
in an open wood,
dandelion suns dotting
the wild grass,
and coltsfoot,
inhabiting the shaded ground
of the river bank.

The trailing blackberry
wound its way
along the neck
of the forest;
its purple-seeded harvest
a steeped nectar
over the fire.

A dreamer of the North,
of wind, of fire, and of water,
like a lodge overgrown
with moss,
behind the Northern
lights, beyond a wall of mist:
his footsteps
walking down,
his walking stick, aligned,
to see the bears cross the sky,
to see the ladle of the stars;
like night sounds,
slow across the
about to fall…
they give themselves
to his arrows.

The imagined mirror
of time and plenty
where the green waters
gave forth a harvest
to last the winter.

The driftwood
peopled the shore
and surf pounded
a breaking rhythm.

To walk the sands
of time,
both past and future:
to find the eternal song.

Legend carried us far,
an island tapered
by wild winds
and wildflowers.

in the pale light
over the tundra,
the tall grass in the meadow,
at the coming

thyme, rosemary,
and marjoram
brightened with
the flowers
of indigo petals and
yellow goldenrod;
a silent prayer
upon the altar
of peace.

Corn and beans,
squash and savory;
like mist over the plains,
Three Sisters Stew
a staple of the North,
and Indian stature
of wombs with eyes
to gaze into the
heart of earthly and
each child
a new planet
into the constellation
of sun, wind, and tears.

of the Arctic Inuit,
blooming round
the cabin door,
a stream to cloak the
Northern star,
nursed in a pine cone.

We are as flowering dogwood
and Nootka rose,
planets moving
through the night
lens of milky universe,
transient as the seasons pass
without appeasement,
at the mercy of the storm.

Yet now,
I have completed
a measurable act:
I have built a home
in the wilderness,
where the beams,
warm with the smoke
of a hearth-fire,
are hung with elk
and bear,
dried sorrel and madrona;
maize and beans
dot the soup
with gold stars
in the spring sky.

--Emily Isaacson