Me and You and Rebecca and Drew by Jennifer Filipowicz

I remember it was sometime in May
When we all went up to the falls that day
Just me and you and Rebecca and Drew
From Dufferin Islands we walked so far
It was the cheapest place to leave our car
And we strolled along and we passed a barge
On Niagara River, wide and large
The rusted scow had been there forever
And Rebecca who was very clever
Knew the story of the daring rescue
Of the men on the scow when it was new
It broke loose from a tug boat, Becca said
They were saved by man named William Red
The men climbed a cable one at a time
While Red and the coast guard secured the line
And as the river raged on beside us
We walked along with no one to guide us
Went to the casino and played some slots
We won some, I think, but didn’t win lots
To the top of Horseshoe Falls we did go
Where the Maid of the Mist cruised down below
We stood by the falls on that day in May
And got thoroughly misted by the spray
Then stopped at a shop to buy too much fudge
And up Clifton Hill the four of us trudged
We passed a statue on a high tightrope
Then you took my picture with a wax Pope
We saw Frankenstein and Dracula too
Just me and you and Rebecca and Drew
Suddenly Becca collapsed upon the floor
And said “Drew, I can’t take it anymore!”
“I’m exhausted,” she said. “Not feeling well.”
“I’m telling something too early to tell”
“I’m pregnant!” our friend Rebecca did say.
“And so I’m tired from walking all day.”
Back to our cars you and Drew walked and walked
While I sat with Becca and talked and talked
Under a stairway, Rebecca and me.
We spoke about how motherhood would be
(I didn’t know then I was pregnant too)
Then we got in a car with you and Drew
Drove somewhere and ate dinner together
And I’ll remember that day forever
A terrible storm broke apart that scow
And our babies are almost twenty now

Source: The author, 2026.

Jennifer Filipowicz moved to the Niagara area last year 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.

Read about the daring scow rescue

This poem won third place 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.

Before I Met Niagara by Kunal Sharma

My first lesson in water
was not from a map.

I stood a little apart
while my brother
placed my grandfather into the Ganga.

At Har Ki Pauri,
a priest kept chanting Sanskrit shlokas
without looking up.

The water felt high that day
but the river stayed calm.

That calmness felt strange to me.

Temple bells rang from far away—
not loud, just continuing.

It felt like a sound
meant to say goodbye
when words are not enough.

Later, in Delhi,
I saw another river in passing.

The Yamuna
moving through dust and distance,
as if it had learned
not to expect attention.

Then one day—
a photograph.

Niagara.

I did not understand it at first.

Just water
breaking its own edge
and refusing to stop.

I have never stood there.

But I see it like this:

people leaning hard on railings,
wind pulling at their sleeves,
mist already stuck on skin
before anyone notices.

The sound would not feel like water.

It would feel like something constant
hitting the air.

And beyond it—

the Horseshoe Falls
curving wide,
as if the earth has opened
and forgotten to close again.

I think of how water behaves.

At Har Ki Pauri,
it carried ash, prayer, silence—
And kept moving as if nothing had changed.

At Niagara,
it keeps falling
as if falling is the only thing it knows.

One day I will stand there.

I will not arrive empty.

That moment at the river
will already be inside me—

the priest’s voice,
the bells from far away,
my brother’s hands steady in water,
and me standing aside
not knowing where to look.

All of it
moving quietly together
when I finally face that falling water.

Source: The author, 2026

Kunal Sharma is a poet from Delhi, India. He explore memory, travel, and the emotional presence of landscapes in his writing.

This poem won an Honourable Mention 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

Klondike Hotel by Glenn Bridenbaker

Warning: nudity, drug, and alcohol use

The small railway hotel and tavern near the Rainbow Bridge of Niagara Falls, Ontario at Bridge St. and Erie St. was named seven times during its 125-year history.

For decades, the hotel was known for basic rooms, meals, stabling horses, and postal delivery.

Since its inception, the building had been called the Suspension Bridge (1853), the Waverly (1880s-90s), the Arlington (mid-1890s), the New Arlington (mid-1930s) the Erie Hotel and the Avon House (1950s), and, finally, the hotel was named the Klondike Hotel in 1960.

On the rough side of town, it became well known that, for regular, law-abiding folk, just going there was risky.

Over the years, there were constant law enforcement interventions about alcohol, drug, health, solicitation, strip club, and vice regulations.

There were continuous police citations for a myriad of recidivist by-law and civil infractions and criminal code violations.

Lawlessness prevailed, and the characters around the scene acted with impunity;

The Klondike had become a well-known bane to the civilized community.

One day, while I was researching the interesting landowner lineage of the plot at Sam’s Montrose Hotel/Motel at Montrose and Lyons Creek roads in Niagara Falls (my research paper found at Niagara Falls Museum in the Thompson/Thomson files collection),

I was in a public telephone booth calling the hotel for deed information, and I became a part of a peculiar telephone call misconnection.

I was confusedly speaking with a confused woman who was also telephoning Sam’s Montrose. I asked her name. She said her name was Cinnamon. Dare I say that I don’t know how she spelled her name.

Curious, I asked her where she was calling from. She replied, “the Klondike.” She added that she was working there. Intrigued, I felt a song coming on. I asked if I could meet her at the Klondike to talk person-to-person for ten to fifteen minutes, so I could take some notes. Honestly, that was my aim.

I went down to the Klondike to chat with this muse. As I walked through the door, facing me — three feet in front of me, on a raised runway stage — there was a full-frontal nude exotic dancer called Bambi. She was gyrating to Stevie Wonder’s major hit “Sir Duke.” As I stood before her, she opened her arms wide and shimmied. I heard the blasting lyrics, “You can feel it all over, you can feel it all over, you can feel it all over.” Believe me, I could feel it all over. The small lobby’s barroom was overcrowded, and marijuana and drunkenness were apparent. Bedlam reigned everywhere.

I briefly spoke with Cinnamon; she was so completely unimpressive that I took no notes. There was no song arising from this occasion. I quickly left, sensing the high tension in the thick, smoky air.

Everything about the Klondike festered until the hotel met its final fate.

Thank goodness no one was injured, but the building sustained a dynamite explosion in 1978.

One wonders why, over time, the police investigator

Never caught the perpetrator.

Rumors were that police facilitated the deed. The person(s) involved — never found.

Finally, in 1980, the officially condemned, unsafe building was demolished to the ground.

The land where The Klondike once stood is presently part of the Niagara Falls Ontario Bus Terminal site.

Today, word on the street is that, in the shadow of the Klondike area’s history, it’s not a neighborhood to walk through in the dim light of night.

Source: The author, 2026

Author’s note:

The poem “Klondike Hotel,” a Niagara Falls atypical rhyming piece is one of five ̶ what I call ‘rambling poems’ ̶ comprising the unpublished work Rambling Reminiscences.

Glenn Bridenbaker:
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.

Kirk Raymond Jones by T. W. Kriner

I once met the man. We spoke for a bit.
He autographed something. That was pretty much it.
He went over Niagara once and lived.
On his second attempt, the poor guy got shivved.

The note reads: To Ted Kriner: a great historian who knows the true spirit of the falls. I trust we will meet again together we will unlock the secrets of Niagara. Your friend Kirk Jones, Niagara Falls Survivor

Read about Kirk Raymond Jones

Our Lady’s Knights by M. of I. Heart

A tribute to the Faculty and students of Mount Carmel College, who rushed to the rescue as the fire of January 10 devastated Loretto Academy.

Our Lady’s Knights of Carmel,
Whose inner life is led
Upon the mountain peaks of prayer
Where angels softly tread,
With zeal, to labour hasten—
Their joyful hearts serene—
To win new realms for their King,
And Heaven’s peerless Queen.

Their converse is with Heaven ;
Yet mindful of the need
Of toilers in the valley,
For fellow-men they plead,
Whom, when disaster threatens,
These valiant Knights descend
On Charity’s swift pinions,
Their whole-souled aid to lend.

Undaunted by the danger,
Disdaining selfish claim
That checks the noble impulse
Of hearts with love aflame,
They fly ; and all unconscious
They’ve deeds of prowess done,
Through darkness, cold, discomfort,
They toil till end is won.

Sweet Lady of Mount Carmel,
Who visited of old
The saints of that fair garden—
As by tradition told—
May Carmel of Niag’ra
E’er with your smile be blest ;
Your mantle of protection
Forever ’round it rest.

Source: Loretto Rainbow, vol. XLIV, no. 4, April 1938

Many thanks to Arden Phair for pointing this poem out to the Niagara Falls Poetry Project.

Read about the fire at Loretto Academy

Category: Niagara History & Folklore

Me and You and Rebecca and Drew by Jennifer Filipowicz

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Before I Met Niagara by Kunal Sharma

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Klondike Hotel by Glenn Bridenbaker

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Kirk Raymond Jones by T. W. Kriner

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Our Lady’s Knights by M. of I. Heart

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