The Poetry of Emily Isaacson

Dried Burgundy Flowers


One love, true sentiment

the reed, dampened,

and a dolce affair

though a ship direct our course

over grey and ire.


The bridge of time, our port

and exploring, we wind our hearts

to one life.


Singing, I shall find one note

as the sail hums.


Emily Isaacson 

Baby's Breath Wreath


The delicate moment when a new-born’s cry

crossed the threshold, a minuet:

I was seated, and my purpose sealed,

with joy I marry and am brought near.


The circular purpose of a world

and the stormy islands, unchartered;

a mariner’s compass 

to guide our eyes. 


Emily Isaacson

Glass Teapot


My teapot,

countless pouring and clear diadem,

with invisible planets

of color

in glass solar systems:


They cross overhead, their haloes,

true sons.


And the passengers sit

at the backgammon table,

in shaded summer linen,

a game with numerous endings,

silhouetting the realm of chance

and fate;

the sailors, resonant, lithe. 


Emily Isaacson