Praise

Love in the Time of Plague is dense, layered, and honestly kind of massive. But if you like poetry that feels like wandering through a library and a church at the same time, you’re in for a treat.

You drift through eras, images, and moods like walking through a cathedral filled with stained glass and whispers of memory. Some parts read like historical fantasy and others feel like personal prayer . . . The way the poems echo each other, especially the ones about Notre Dame and the recurring garden motifs, kept me emotionally anchored.

What I appreciated most is that Isaacson doesn’t just write characters; she composes them like music - layered, expressive, and ancient in soul. The subtle power dynamics, philosophical undertones, and historical atmosphere around Carnelian make her more than a figure. She’s mythic.

… Drawing inspiration from the landscapes of Cornwall and the paintings of J.W. Waterhouse, Isaacson writes with a voice that is both intimate and grand, grounding the sacred in the everyday. There’s a constant motion between the personal and the mythical. Her words rise like tides, returning again and again to resilience, devotion, and the endurance of beauty in chaos.
I’d rate this book 5 out of 5 stars. . . Isaacson’s use of classical structures feels intentional rather than old-fashioned, and her spiritual undertones carry real weight. Readers who love poetry that feels lush, symbolic, and unapologetically emotional will find this collection rewarding.

Storm Watcher reads like standing on a cliff at dawn. Quiet, reverent, and filled with light. Emily Isaacson’s words rise and fall like waves, carrying deep faith and the echoes of classical art. I loved the blend of spirituality and human experience in her verses. It’s a collection that rewards slow reading and reflection.

I didn’t expect to be so moved by Storm Watcher. The poems felt like walking through someone’s memories and prayers all at once. I could almost hear the sea and feel the loneliness she writes about. Isaacson’s writing reminded me that poetry can still be emotional without being sentimental.

Emily Isaacson’s Storm Watcher combines poetic discipline with emotional vulnerability. Her command of sonnet and requiem forms gives structure to raw personal themes like faith, illness, and endurance. . . It’s an ambitious work that bridges tradition and modern sensibility.

The Madonna figures in The Intercessions: From the Ashes of Plague feel worn down, present, and close to ordinary suffering. She’s not distant or idealized. Poems like The Madonna of the Streets place her right in the middle of broken spaces, which made those sections feel very human. The settings move from churches to streets to rivers, and that shift keeps things from feeling static.

The Intercessions: From the Ashes of Plague is not a book for readers who want closure. The structure keeps returning to prayer and asking rather than resolving anything. Memory and hope sit side by side, sometimes uncomfortably. What kept it from feeling abstract was how specific the imagery stays. Stone, ash, lead, wood. Real materials. By the end, what stayed with me wasn’t triumph or healing, but endurance. The act of continuing to pray, continue to witness, even when the outcome isn’t clear. That quiet persistence felt like the heart of the book. . . highly recommended.

You feel that right away in the poems set inside the burned space, where ash, silence, and light keep showing up. I liked how the speaker isn’t trying to explain the fire or make sense of it. They’re just there, standing, watching, praying. The writing stays close to stone, smoke, and sound instead of drifting into vague spirituality. I finished this feeling quieter than when I started, like I’d been sitting with someone else’s grief.

Reading The Intercessions: From the Ashes of Plague felt less like finishing a book and more like keeping watch for a while. . . Like returning to the same place because you’re not done yet. . . Singing while the fire is happening feels pointless on the surface, but the poem makes it feel necessary. A lot of these pieces sit in discomfort without trying to tidy it up.