The Hon. Wm. Hamilton Merritt by George Coventry

Born July 3, 1793 ; Died July 6, 1862, Aged 69 Years

If, in thy wanderings o’er this beauteous earth,
….A solemn thought should contemplate the doom
Of minds inheriting intrinsic worth,
….Go mark the spot where Merritt lies entombed !

An active life, the path he sought aright
….For his adopted country ;—through each change
He watched its progress with intense delight ;
….His mind capacious took extensive range.

A wilderness around his boyish days,
….When first he strolled through woods so dense so green ;
He lived to see vast schemes matured, and gazed
….With pride and admiration o’er the scene.

The Lakes’ bold shores, the angry waters stayed,
….Were altered in their course by one great plan ;
After comingling opened wide a trade
….And commerce vast to high-aspiring man.

Still incomplete to meet his restless eye,
….Which ever beamed with generous emotion,
He soared beyond a bright Canadian sky
….To carry on our commerce o’er the ocean.

But Death, that intervenes to mar our hopes,
….Cut short his measures for the country’s weal ;
A funeral dirge at last, in moving tropes,
….Proclaimed at large what all survivors feel.

The loss of one so useful in his day,
….A chasm left that none can e’er supply ;
The mourners walk abroad, and wend their way
….Each to respective homes, to heave a sigh,

Exclaiming, “Truly, wonderful is death !—
….A silent monitor to each from birth—
A power that robs the human race of breath,
….And levels giant minds to mother earth.”

Many men of talent still that path pursue,
….Which our departed friend so wisely loved ;
Walk in his footsteps, with the self-same view ;
….And ultimately rest — rewarded above.

July 13, 1862

Source: St. Catharines Constitutional, July 17, 1862.

Many thanks to historian Dennis Gannon for bringing this poem to the NFPP curator’s attention.

William Hamilton Merritt had many ties to Niagara Falls: he served with the 2nd Lincoln Militia during the War of 1812, stationed at Chippawa; was the driving force behind the Welland Canal, which followed Chippawa Creek part of the way; and was a driving force behind the construction of the first suspension bridge across the Niagara River.

Niagara, Powerful Splendour by Honey Novick

Rainbow at the Brink of Niagara Falls
Photo by Jason Ng on Unsplash

Mine eyes have seen the glory that lies beyond the horizon.
It is called Niagara, the pot of gold lying
At the end of the highway ribbon named for Queen Mother Elizabeth.

Oftentimes, there is a rainbow gracing the skies of Niagara
Like a tiara crowning the head of a precious daughter.
There, at Niagara, my demeanour changes —
Going from that of being wound up, taut,
To one of aaaaahhhhh…….., relaxed, a sense of well-being, one with the nature.

With closed eyes I can feel the thunderous roar permeating my being.
I experience the wet mist on my skin; the powerful surging water
Keeping a rhythm in time with my heart.
Sharp rocks, seagulls, white foaming suds,
The changing blue hues of the river become
An oasis rising from the landscape of southern Ontario, northern New York

Aboriginal people traversed the land freely
In days before geographic boundaries
When there were no borders.
It is borderless to me.

At Niagara, I am transported from one world to another world.
This new world of universality becomes my Mists of Avalon.
This universality is the essence of my being.
This is Niagara.

Niagara, your name is powerful splendour.
Niagara, you are spirit materialized.
Niagara, you are essence realized.
Niagara. You. Are.

Source: Honey Novick, 2023

Honey Novick is a singer/songwriter/voice teacher/poet. A full member of the League of
Canadian Poets, Poetry In Voice (educational branch of the Griffin Foundation), the Writer’s
Union of Canada and SOCAN. She is an original member of General Idea performance art
group. Honey performed at Carnegie Recital, Seibu Lion’s Stadium in Japan and has sung
tribute concerts for Irving Layton, Leonard Cohen (5 times, 2x at the Toronto Reference
Library with Canada’s Parliamentary Poet, George Elliott Clarke), Austin Clark, Phil Ochs,
Robbie Burns

She has 10 collections of poems including the forthcoming Bob Dylan, My Rabbi; and I’m
Mad — I Matter, Making A Difference, a project of the Friendly Spike Theatre Band;
Undefeated Relevance, published by Flowertopia Studio; LyricalMyrical’s Ruminations of a Fractured Diamond; Cancyp’s Monday Nights at the Butler’s Pantry; Sanguine Encounters With Greatness and others.

She has recorded 8 CDs including Rising Toward The Seraphim; Solid; New Songs for Peace (a product of the UNESCO millenium endeavours); Milton Acorn and The Free Speech Movement; Sal Mineo, My Friend; Elvis Monday Nights; Fat Albert’s Coffeehouse Artists.

Honey Novick is a four-time awardee of the Dr. Reva Gerstein Legacy Fund and the 2020 Awardee of the Mentor Award of CSARN – Canadian Senior Artists Resource Network. She is a 2019 and 2023 awardee of the Canada 150 Outstanding Neighbours for Literarti and has produced Womanvoice for 29 years.

Honey Novick is a 2020 nominee for an Acker Award – peer-based performance arts contributor

She is working on a recording of Mbrace with bill bissett.

She is artist resource with the Friendly Spike Theatre Band, teaches “Voice Yoga” at the Secret Handshake Gallery, and is part of the Inkwell Writers and High Park Poets.

Visit Honey Novick’s website

Honey Novick’s Facebook page

Rivers of Light by Wayne Ritchie

I often look up and into the sky.
I’m guessing, Heaven only knows the reason why.
WhenI get lonesome as I usually do.
I contemplate about the time spent with you.
My youthful years went by far too quick.
Looking up into heaven for my uncle Nick.
Being my Cub Scout leader teaching me well.
Learned a lot more, it’s amazing to tell.
Laying on my back, I see rivers of light.
I can see water flowing. It’s a wonderful sight.
He taught the boys to row a canoe.
Down through the rapids here’s what you do.
With a paddle you could make water flow.
Making your vessel travel where you wanted to go.
Tops of the trees have plenty of leaves.
Rivers of light flowing thanks to the breeze.
One Summer we circumnavigated around the Great lakes.
We learned from his talking, by our mistakes.
I remember a river that became Niagara Falls.
The swift mighty river that became river stalls.
Rivers of my youth flowed like blood in my veins.
Learned to build fires when no one complains.
He loved to joke, here’s one of his best.
His laughter made tears, let’s get some rest.
Folks should know you can’t drink Canada Dry.
The answer is easy, just ask yourself why.
The answer is as comfortable as nightly dreams.
Canada has too many lakes, rivers, and streams.
Nighttime fell upon my campsite under the trees.
The rivers went dark, went to my knees.
Giving thanks to the Lord for the view.
So very thankful that I can tell you.
Open your eyes to the great sights we see.
There all around us, take it from me.

Source: Wayne Ritchie, 2023

At the time of submitting this poem, Wayne Ritchie was 73 years old and had been writing poetry and short stories for 60 years.

My First Visit to Niagara Falls by Wayne Ritchie

*Fisherman in the Niagara River Near the Brink of the Falls.* March 2003
Photo by Andrew Porteus

The forest is so quiet and I don’t know why.
Yes it’s all up to the man in the sky.
I’ve heard the water but I never saw it fall.
Now I know why humans come for the thrill of it all.
The animal kingdom keeps saying the world’s lost its cool.
The whole human race has turned into a gigantic fool.
Not one single human ventures out from their tiny abode.
My guess is humans think the world’s ready to explode.
It’s hotter in the summer and colder when it snows.
They always blame global warming however Mother Nature really knows.
Well I saw for myself, stepped out taking a chance.
Never knew falling water knew how to shimmy and dance.
The sound is so deafening, it is hurting my ears.
Water is splashing my face like I’m filled with tears.
Feels so cold to the touch, I’d love a taste.
It’s pure energy and it is all going to waste.
A sad state of affairs when no humans are around.
I really can’t get over how quiet the peaceful sound.
No roaring cars on the road with their bright lights.
It’s so much safer when I’m walking alone at nights.
I have always wondered where does this water all flow?
One day I shall follow it, I’m quisitive you know.
Does this flow into a river, to a very large lake?
It’s a life changing moment, I know I should take.
As for now I’ll just stand here and admire the view.
I’ll pretend the wind is a human, like I’m talking to you.
Wait! Is that a human fishing down on the shore?
I must visit him, maybe he will tell me more.
I bet you he’s kind hearted and will toss me a fish.
I’ve yet to meet a mean human, I can only wish.
Now how do I get there? Well look there’s a trail.
I’m a kind thoughtful animal from my antlers to tail.
So this is what the humans call the mighty Niagara Falls.
A true sign of mother nature when she bids her calls.
A majestic beautiful true life drama to feel and see.
Now let’s head to that fisherman, hope he’ll be nice to me.

Source: Wayne Ritchie, 2023

At the time of submitting this poem, Wayne Ritchie was 73 years old and had been writing poetry and short stories for 60 years.

Niagara Falls, I Do Not by Scott Manley Hadley

Staring at the water
Beside the top of Niagara Falls
Thinking about throwing myself in.

My sister is visiting and I am exhausted by
Pretending I don’t want to die
Which makes me want death more.

I imagine my body smashing against the rocks
Or
Being pummelled under by the water.

I see my
Fat
Bald
Sad
Body
Floating down the river
On its back
Disgusting the other
Fat
Bald
Sad
Bodies that stand looking at geography
In this trash town
As if it means redemption.

I stop myself
By thinking
What if I become a ghost.

What if
In this horrible world
Of horrible horrors
The punishment for suicide
Is an eternity on Earth?

I step away from the edge
And tell no one
How close I was
To jumping.

Source: Scott Manley Hadley, 2003

First recorded for Moonchild Magazine, 2019

Visit the website of Scott Manley Hadley

Author: Andrew Porteus

The Hon. Wm. Hamilton Merritt by George Coventry

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