Caveat emptor: This website is designed to provide revelation only and not information. Revelation is essential for a meaningful contemplative experience.


Poetry is free, and it belongs to everyone. It is part of the oral and written tradition of every culture. Poems are meant to be quoted, to be written down, scribbled on the backs of envelopes, given in cards, given as gifts.

Poems make life magic, they make moments memorable. 
Find the poem you've always waited for 
. . . one that speaks to your heart.  Emily

Emily Isaacson's Books

Emily Isaacson, poet and author

Sometimes the best way to pioneer a new way of life, a new philosophy, or a new concept is to depict life with a different outcome in story form. Emily Isaacson is a storyteller at heart, who seeks to share her rich and diverse life experiences with her readers. She has been writing almost three decades now, and is using her art to benefit various non-profit organizations. 

Emily Isaacson released her latest book Hallmark  just in time for Canada's greatest year ever. The book launch will be in the Fraser Valley in April. Patriots take note! 

Visit the new booksite here.


Join Emily Isaacson as a

Friend of the Institute

The Clay Road Foundation for artists

Every artist is unique, yet they all have something in common. It is our commonalities and our differences that make up our diversity. We seek to be creative in response to what life offers. We look for resources to teach, cultivate, and inspire us.

Art in itself is a very cultivated, skilled activity that represents civilizations from antiquity. It creates images, words, objects, and even monuments. It puts a face on the drama of the rise and fall of empires, and enlists hieroglyphics. Sometimes humanity is depicted in stick figures, sometimes cartoons, paintings or photographs. 

People drive art, and without people and their varied perceptions, art would not exist.

Passion is their forward movement . . . 


What are prophets but the trumpets blown by God to stir the heart?


Emily Quote

The song was threnody,

bittersweet watch over the night:

like a nightingale’s tone,

hung over the branches

and the vestiges of time.

She sat beside the monastery wall

at Westminster Abbey,

and composed in her usual way,

refusing to war with moths

 for the light.

 --Emily Isaacson  

Like the wild lily institute on 


click here

Emily Isaacson's 


City of Roses

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