The mushrooming sound of waters, spores, and eddies oozing up towards the fog — an insolence
that defines us.
We are mired in the gurgling of the falls.
Nothing speaks of the evening
yet we appear to be in the midst of its hyphae.
The Cover of Moga’s Sea Glass Circe, the collection from which this poem was taken
II — Granite
Rocks — granite and dark quartz, glitter in the riverbed.
Water randomly concludes harmonics of the second order:
grass plotting a poisoning
in the straits of the narrowing waterway.
III — Inside the Barrel and Across the Falls
Padded with gills,
the blowball of the water
speeds past us enmeshed in fuzzy tendrils.
A falsehood of colors reflects
the one-size-fits-all roar of the river,
its course shaping a
a finer, more irregular death of its meaning.
Source: The author, 2021. First published in Moga, Irina. Sea Glass Circe. Leaside Books, 2019
Author’s Bio:
Irina Moga is a Romanian-born Canadian poet, author of five poetry books, and a member of the Writers’ Union of Canada (TWUC).
“Sea Glass Circe,” her fourth book, was selected for an official launch as part of the 2020 Toronto LitUp!, Toronto International Festival of Authors (TIFA).
A collection of poems written in French, “Variations sans palais,” was published with Éditions L’Harmattan (France) in 2020.
Irina’s work has appeared in literary magazines in Canada and the US, such as: “Canadian Literature,” “carte-blanche,” “Cloud Lake Literary,” “PRISM International” online, and “Poetry Quarterly.”
The Europa Hotel in Downtown Niagara Falls. Photo by Cole McInerney
And the street held silence for two strangers who didn’t have to stay that way. We stood silent below lamplight in the magnetic time.
Your suburban home stood parched in the dark and didn’t know me well. Your mother stood at the northern window and pretended to be passing by. The ten o’clock fireworks stood above the hotels and were heard in a tired sky. Your roof stood parallel to that forgiving horizon.
Your car stood locking and unlocking as we collided. We stood silent across from fire station number three then went around your block again. And in that silence we don’t celebrate the ending we just end up walking other ways.
Source: The author, 2021
Russell Street was first published in The Continuist, May 10, 2020
Cole McInerney is a poet from Niagara Falls, Ontario. He studied English at Toronto Metropolitan University. Currently, he is a MFA student at the University of South Carolina, studying poetry. His poems have been published in several print and online publications, including Feral Poetry, White Wall Review, The Bookends Review, and Echolocation Magazine.
Lady Emmeline Stuart-Wortley, 1806-1855. Portrait by Frederick Christian Lewis Sr . Courtesy Wikipedia Commons
Waters of wonder! whose dread cry, profound, ‡‡Is as the world’s voice lifted to the sky! ‡‡A wild, and terrible, and awful cry,
Fall! pealing with a more than sea-deep sound,
Thrills not the earth to thee for leagues around?— ‡‡Art thou not heard into the Eternity?— ‡‡Beyond that upper air that seems to lie
Listening above thee in bright silence bound? ‡‡On plumes of swift imagination borne,
How have I seen thee, mighty cataract! sent ‡‡As ’twere from Heaven to Earth, of strength unshorn!
How have I o’er thy scene o’erpowering bent, ‡‡Adored thy wrathful play and savage scorn, ‡‡Thou won’drous Chaos of one Element!
Source: Emmeline Stuart-Wortley. Queen Berengaria’s Courtesy and Other Poems. London: J. Rickerby–J. Hatchard and Son, 1838
We live among unheard Niagaras.
The force that pushes up the meadow grass,
That swells to ampler roundness ripening fruit,
That lifts the brier rose, were it not mute,
Would thunder o’er the green earth’s sunlit tracts
More loudly than a myriad cataracts.
Source: Wetherald, A. Ethelwyn. Lyrics and Sonnets, Complete Edition. Toronto: Thomas Nelson & Sons, 1931
Read about Agnes Ethelwyn Wetherald on the Brock University Archives site. Wetherald lived her later years in Pelham, a few miles from Niagara Falls.
William “Red” Hill Jr and “The Thing” in which he went over the Horseshoe Falls to his death. Photo by Ron Roels. Used by permission of Niagara Falls Public Library
Rapids rage, in furrows to their end and fall, Off the edge, as if dropping off the face of the earth And thunder resonates, as foam and mist rise, Into nature’s cauldron, that churns and abounds.
A family possessed with this mighty river,
Gain fame meeting its constant challenge
Traversing the worst of treacherous rapids
Yet needing to conquer the Cataracts alone.
Their barrels, carrying father and son,
Each defied those waters several times,
Passing through the swirling whirlpool,
Wallowing in the cheers of their success.
Immersed in steel barrels, over they rolled
The tumultuous waves bob them like cork
Captive prisoners’ to nature’s full wrath,
Death looms in those currents…beware!
Father dies and son now takes the torch,
Family honor means pay forward the promise.
The ultimate challenge of Niagara looms,
Over the falls is his next ride to glory.
His commitment made, one year hence
Work starts on his device to conquer.
Inner tubes netted securely with rope,
Named “The Thing”, standing beside it proud.
The August day comes, glory will now, be his.
His crew readies him for his timely journey.
One last wave he enters his creation.
Capped, the darkness opens his mind.
Visions of glory mask the fear he felt.
His vessel rides the rapids, weaving waves,
He rides the path, to the brink, of his desire.
Soon the deafening thunder; he knows he’s close!
A sudden surge and he vanishes in white
His stomach drops with a deadly plunge
And darkened silence brings the end,
To a promise, broken, by a son who dared.
A mother’s cry on the quiet shore of rock
“Where’s my boy what’s happened?”
Brothers scramble to find their daring sibling,
In the waters, churning cold, before them.
Remnants of rubber and frayed broken rope
Leave no doubt as the fate of Red Hill Jr.
Swallowed by a watery tomb, his nemesis.
A day later he is washed to familiar arms.
What tragic price this thing we call honor.
The need to challenge what nature creates.
A family possessed by a river so cruel
Close, but never fulfilling their ultimate goal.
Rapids rage in furrows to their end and fall, Off the edge as if dropping off the face of the earth And thunder resonates, as foam and mist rise, Into nature’s cauldron, that churns and abounds.
A note from Bill Hamilton:
In 1951 Wm. Red Hill Jr. created a barrel-like vessel using large inner tubes surrounded by canvas and secured by netting. He named this contraption “The Thing”. His mission, honor a Hill family promise, to ride this device over Niagara Falls. On August 5th he climbed into his creation and was released to his fate. Needless to say, his plight ended in tragedy. The loss of a son and brother to the Thunderous Cataracts of Niagara!
I own the Red Hill Estate including the 3 Hill daredevil barrels currently on display at the IMAX theatre.
Biography of Bill Hamilton:
My interest in writing started in University at Waterloo. Reactivated by the NOTL Writer’s Circle I have had several of my works published. Poetry is my main passion and my poem “Angel’s Ghost” hangs in Ontario’s oldest tavern the “Angel Inn” in Niagara on the Lake. I am currently working on an anthology of poetry for publication.
My poem “The Thing” was a topic of interest, as I own the Red Hill estate barrels on display at the IMAX Theatre here in Niagara. I grew up with stories of the many Daredevils of Niagara, which inspired this poem.
