Poetry of and about Niagara Falls & the Niagara River – the waterfalls, the city, the history, the stunters, and everything else Niagara
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.
Source: The author, ©2025
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
Before the purblind European eye
had cast its greedy stare upon the stones
that cracked before the flood like brittle bones,
the Onguiaarhas chose this place to die.
Their name became Niagara to the Whites
—it’s all that’s left of them in their disgrace.
They bowed before a demon at this place
and sacrificed their daughters in his rites.
Instead of Hinon, thunder god, they prayed
to Tawiskaro, trickster of the north,
who charmed them with his voice and called them forth
to feed upon their souls—so it is said.
The Onguiaarhas warned us of the fall,
but men still answer to the demon’s call.
Source: T. W. Kriner.
T. W. Kriner is the author of Journeys to the Brink of Doom (1997), In the Mad Water (1999), Twelve Dozen Four-by-Fours (2025), and The Call of Tawiskaro (2025). He lives in a Western New York swamp with his wife and two cats.
Kriner says:
Of course the “myth” behind the sonnet was entirely fabricated by me. I continued this story in my recent short story collection . The idea is absurd. I admit that freely. But it was fun.
I’ve recently posted a fair number of poems at All Poetry .com, if you’d care to sample.
Walk to Terrapin Point and pick a spot.
Jump into the rapids with all youʼve got.
If the fall doesnʼt kill you, youʼll certainly drown.
Take a moment to f*ck yourself on the way down.
Source: T. W. Kriner. Twelve Dozen Four-by-Fours: Rhymes of a Cranky Old Conservative
J & J Publishing ©2025
Available at Amazon.com
T. W. Kriner is the author of Journeys to the Brink of Doom (1997), In the Mad Water (1999), Twelve Dozen Four-by-Fours (2025), and The Call of Tawiskaro (2025). He lives in a Western New York swamp with his wife and two cats.
Kriner says:
About three years ago I began writing what I call four-by-four poems: four lines with four beats per line, usually with a pair of rhyming couplets. The challenge for me was to do at least one or more of the following in each poem: tell a story; paint a picture; evoke or share a memory; express a political opinion; convey my view on a particular subject; do something else while trying to get a laugh. I’ve recently posted a fair number of them at All Poetry .com, if you’d care to sample.
Terrapin Tower was a popular tourist attraction from 1833 to 1873
Howie drove to Niagara Falls.
Girlfriend wouldn’t take his calls.
Learned by text he’d just been dumped.
Walked to Prospect Point and jumped.
Source: T. W. Kriner Twelve Dozen Four-by-Fours:
Rhymes of a Cranky Old Conservative. J & J Publishing ©2025
Available at Amazon.com
T. W. Kriner is the author of Journeys to the Brink of Doom (1997), In the Mad Water (1999), Twelve Dozen Four-by-Fours (2025), and The Call of Tawiskaro (2025). He lives in a Western New York swamp with his wife and two cats.
Kriner says:
About three years ago I began writing what I call four-by-four poems: four lines with four beats per line, usually with a pair of rhyming couplets. The challenge for me was to do at least one or more of the following in each poem: tell a story; paint a picture; evoke or share a memory; express a political opinion; convey my view on a particular subject; do something else while trying to get a laugh. I’ve recently posted a fair number of them at All Poetry .com, if you’d care to sample.
Down through
The rapids above the falls he
comes floating, kayak like a blunt
arrow, a twig, a hollow stick, him waist-
up from the center paddling, the white noise
of falling water thrashing the air. People
running along the shore as if in a dream,
arms waving, tiny mouths shouting
without sound. He imagines cameras
pointing, himself on millions of television
screens around the world—gets hung up
on rocks, lifts himself heart thudding
awkwardly out, has legs again, pulls
the kayak clear, settles into it, shoots
forward toward the lip, paddle digging
water jumping to bare arms and chest, imagining
himself sailing clear, beyond the rocks, down,
down, triumphant—lifts the paddle
over his head, whirling it in salute
as he hits the edge, thinks
I’m going to make it! sees
the open maw of the gorge, mist, sunlight
on the far side, sees he’s not sailing clear
realizes the weight of bad judgement
the error of imagination, tons
of water, heavier than shame.
Source: E. R. Baxter III. Niagara Lost and Found: New and Selected Poems. Yarmouthport, MA: Abyss Publications, 2013.
Read about Jesse Sharp, who went over Niagara Falls in his kayak on June 5, 1990.