Beside a stand of reeds, I stand
on the shore of the Niagara,
dawn shedding its dim light
through morning fog.
On a rock amid those cattails,
a black-crowned night heron
turns its red eye towards me,
and the bird’s shape transforms
until I’m faced by a maiden
in a simple gown of gray and white
that shifts like the wings
of the bird that first greeted me.
Lelawala, Maid of the Mist, speaks.
Long was I troubled by the return
of the serpent that sought to poison
my people through these waters.
Only by the will of the Thunder God
was it defeated, its great body
forming the rim of the mighty falls.
But your serpent is not mine. It is industry.
While your neighbors to the north
have long sought to maintain their shore
as a parkway, it took long decades
for your people to recognize the toll
imposed by industry. The renewed state
of that shore must be a reminder
to never again let that serpent raise its head.
I realize that the fog has thinned
in the morning light, and once again
I stare into the eyes of that heron,
which turns from me to take flight.
I wake and I’m left with a fading memory,
an early morning mist that dissipates
in a warm October sunrise as the air loses
its grasp on the river, lets it slip back
into its already cooling depths,
that air now filled with sunlight.
Ken Gierke was born and raised in Western New York and, since moving to Missouri in 2012, has missed Niagara Falls the most. He was twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize and has been featured online and in numerous print anthologies. His four poetry collections from Spartan Press, Glass Awash (1922), Heron Spirit (2024), Random Riffs (2025), and The Long Haul (2026), are available on Amazon. More of his poetry can be found at https://rivrvlogr.com/.
Broadside Advertising the Schooner Michigan Being Sent Over the Falls Image courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library
Each second over Horseshoe Falls two million liters flood,
And many a macabre tale pollutes the flow with blood,
From suicides, to murders, to barrel stunts gone bad,
All the trauma, gore and death, it’s terrible and it’s sad.
But what tale could be the worst upon the raging water.
A tale of human cruelty, a tale of needless slaughter.
The tale that fills me up the most with sorrow and with rage,
At the bottom of the Falls, there’s a bison in a cage.
A plan was hatched two centuries past when tourism was down,
By three hotel business men named Forsyth, Whitney and Brown.
Forsyth mused “We need a way to bring people to our town,”
“We could send a pirate ship over Horseshoe falls,” said Brown.
“An empty ship,” said Whitney, “Isn’t wild enough I find.”
“On board shall be ferocious beasts of every different kind.”
“Yes!” the men exclaimed at once, then they shook hands and agreed.
“A ruined Noah’s Arc is just the spectacle we need!”
Of the trio, not one man stopped to think this might be wrong.
An old schooner, the Michigan, was purchased for a song.
It was a British navy boat in the 1812 war,
And then a merchant vessel traveling from shore to shore.
By 1827, the time of this dark tale,
The ship was old and broken down, not even fit to sail.
Tied to the Michigan’s foremast the Jolly Roger flew,
And secured upon the deck was a dummy pirate crew.
With Union Jack on the stern, Stars and Stripes on the bow,
They showed our post war countries were friendly and peaceful now.
Though they wanted lions and tigers for their floating zoo,
They got raccoons, fox, and geese, and a couple of bears too.
Some say there was an eagle, some say a dog and a cat.
The reporters of the time didn’t all agree on that.
They promised this would be the spectacle of the age.
In the middle of the ship was a bison in a cage.
Ten thousand people came to watch and business was good.
The pubs ran out of beer; the restaurants ran out of food.
The people gathered by the edge to get a better view,
And marvel at the fate of our frightened animal crew.
A steamship called Chippewa had the Michigan in tow
A kilometer from the edge it let the old ship go.
The raging river moved the boat astonishingly fast
The geese all honked and ran about, the raccoon climbed the mast.
The spectators agreed it looked like chaos on the deck,
As fur and fowl tried as they might to get off of the wreck.
But in amidst the madness as the river war did wage,
Remaining stoic and serene, a bison in a cage.
Two bears leapt off the fated boat and swam towards the shore
They made it to Goat Island then despite the river’s roar
Some say the bears lived out their lives while some say they did not
Some local hunters tracked them down and they were promptly shot.
The Michigan was tossed about and soon was smashed to pieces
Fragments were swept down the falls with the racoons and geeses.
Amongst all this destruction, at a speed that’s hard to gauge.
Soaring o’er Niagara Falls, a bison in a cage.
A single goose was found alive, the rest fated to die
The bird was badly battered and she only had one eye.
She was lucky to have survived, at least that’s how it looked.
Until a fancy dinner feast when our poor goose was cooked.
Some say a cat survived as well, I guess we’ll never know
How many lives were dashed that day in the Falls mighty flow.
And Forsyth, Brown and Whitney all made out with wealth abound.
Neither the bison nor the cage was ever even found.
Jennifer Filipowicz moved to the Niagara area in 2025 with her husband, two teenage children and their dogs. When she’s not working as a background performer on a film set, or manning the front desk at a retirement home, Jennifer can be found hiking the Bruce Trail, swimming at Sunset Beach, or reading a book by her backyard pond.
She lets her ribbons fall
as the last blankets of light
kisses her goodnight
she dances on into an evening
of unknown
her power unignored
crashes down with fatal release
only to leave in white wisps
her wet spells touching everyone
meant for no one
this is just her, breathing
Man commands her power
and today she is fifty percent
yesterday, less
and only once did she reveal secrets
beneath her skirt
what a surprise
all the bodies sacrificed
sadness quite cleansed in her deluge
she thinks separation is ridiculous
she does not exist to deny rocks and seagulls
and science of surges
birthplace of a Maiden
even the locals don’t know
unless you pay them
very fancy tourism
but not for the kids
this is adult Disneyland
heart-shaped hot tubs
condoms and lots of prostitution
the moans of those just checked out
still cling to the walls of this suite
No mind, I sit and nurse this view
as if I don’t have memories of numerous
cramped car rides stopping just short
at the border before taking our trinkets
and returning home
today, I bought nothing
not a barrel to ride my way into stardom
not a tightrope to prove my courage
just a daughter, so clearly of this place
with wide concealed grin hidden beneath
every step
double-daring pathways to remember me
how can anyone look without poets’ eyes
at this watery spectacle
the dizziness has not yet left me
extra windy
her mist distinguishes voluminous thoughts
her roar, although steady grows to a growl
closer, so I speak softer, if at all
at night, the tourist lights dress her, as a whore
for a few bucks you can even pick the colour
how much to turn it all black
buy back a bit of privacy
if not dignity
the nostalgia is too great
her shine and history too bold
to dim her lights completely
January Rogers is a Mohawk/Tuscarora writer and media producer. She lives on her home territory of Six Nations of the Grand River where she operates Ojistoh Publishing and Productions. January combines her literary talents with her passion for media making to produce audio and video poetry. Her video poem Ego of a Nation won Best Music Video at the American Indian International Film Festival 2020 and her audio work The Battle Within won Best Experimental Audio with imagineNative International Film and Media Festival 2021. She is a literary mentor with Audible, the Indigenous Writers Circle Program since 2022. January wrote a 10-episode comedy series NDNs on the Airwaves (found on the Ojistoh youtube channel) and her play Blood Sport, a comedy about the pretendian crisis in Indian Country has received numerous stage readings and was published by Turtle’s Back Publishing in 2023. January received the Indigenous Niagara Outstanding Achievement Award in 2025 in the Performing Arts category. She was also a nominee for the 2025 Ontario Arts Council Indigenous Arts Award.
Every morning, right before the break of day,
I arise, and weather permitting, with guitar,
I walk across the bridge that goes over rail tracks,
And go down rugged Jolly Cut near Murray Hill.
I gaze around to find a preferred place to play,
Away from the chilled, gentle mist — but not too far.
At Victoria Park, I search spots to relax —
Seeing the mighty Falls, I feel a glowing thrill.
Then I begin to compose poetry and song . . .
Often, I linger, absorbed in contemplation.
And with creativity — where my thoughts just flow —
There’s loud roaring of the water and sea gulls’ calls.
At one with this grand wondrous scene where I belong,
Elated with each poetic meditation,
As each twilight rushes — with rapid come and go —
I live sunrise in dawns at Niagara Falls.
AI ChatGPT – generated Illustrations about “Dawns at Niagara Falls” —January 2026
Source: Glenn Bridenbaker, 2026
This poem was an entrant in the Niagara Falls Poetry Project 25th Anniversary Poetry Competition. It will be published with all the other entrants in a print anthology to be published by Phylum Press. To reserve a copy of the anthology please email aporteus@niagarapoetry.ca. A companion volume exploring the poetry over 6 centuries will also soon be available, and may be reserved ahead of time.
Glenn Bridenbaker is happily married to beautiful and wise muse wife Cheryl since 1967. Two brilliant sons, a gorgeous daughter. Two glorious granddaughters, an excellent grandson. Ontario residences: Toronto, Manitoulin Island, Wikwemikong Unceded Indigenous Reserve, Niagara Falls, and Ridgeway. Bibliophile. Musician. Nonprofessional writer. Amateur oil and watercolor painting. Novice Oriental Brush Painting. Art collector. Musical instruments and recorded music collector. Numismatist and philatelist. Dog and cat owner. Home vegetable, flower, and landscape gardener. Birdwatcher. Astronomy and space aficionado. Meaningful values include: know thyself, family, health, common sense, truth, logic, integrity, sharing, creativity, curiosity, quality, arts appreciation, and humor. Two years graduate student of Marshall McLuhan at the Centre for Culture and Technology.
These poems are the winners of the Niagara Falls Poetry Project 25th Anniversary Poetry Competition. They will be published with all the other entrants in a print anthology to be published by Phylum Press. To reserve a copy of the anthology please email aporteus@niagarapoetry.ca. A companion volume exploring the poetry over 6 centuries will also soon be available, and may be reserved ahead of time.
Click on the title of each of the winners to see the complete poem.
Each poem was judged by a panel of 3 judges, and the first, second, and third prizes were the poems with the highest average scores. The judges recommended poems for the Spirit of Niagara Falls award, which was chosen by the curator of the Niagara Falls Poetry Project (Andrew Porteus). Many thanks to C.D. Onofrio, Sharon Frayne, and Gabriel Graham Piessens for judging.
An Honourable Mention was given to the highest scoring poem from each of the judges and the curator that did not receive one of the other awards.
