Poem of Tesla by Miloje Popović

Statue of Nikola Tesla at Niagara Falls, Ontario. Photo by Andrew Porteus, January 23, 2007

Carved from bitter cliffs of Lika peaks
Passing along the miracles of shine –
he shared flames and grew to divine

Ten fingers –
released the forces of giants
His visions and grants –
pushed the torrents to Niagara plants

without hats and tricks
without canes and bricks

From caves, mysterious and frightening
he gifted the world with lightening –
Shoreham tower in the skies –
a hint of miraculous wireless device

Gentleman –
making company to sleepless dawns…
With a single move and step –
seven miles along the hills and lawns…
A golden heritage to mankind –
fascinating product of prodigious mind…

Prophet of upcoming time –
deceased in obscurity, without a dime
His soul in storms and clashes –
fortune for planet from his ashes

Source: Tesla Universe

Also published in Barkan, Stanley H. & Neale, Dorothea (editors) Americana Anthology, Volume I: Bicentennial Edition: 1776-1976.  Cross-Cultural Communications, 1976.


The River Niagara by Donald Lashelle


1930’s Aerial View of Niagara Falls. Courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library


In nature, all acts that have gone before
Leave traces, record marks, clues, tracks in store
That many persons pause to ponder o’er.
From inside outwards was the earth’s crust made,
The hollows caved in, the high mountains stayed,
Encircling flames produced the waters vast,
And time and seasons scaled things to the last.


Would thirty thousand years of effort score
On your astonishment a mark, or more?
Then hearken to a tale of work replete
With action in rain, sunshine, frost and sleet.
The speaker is NIAG’RA RIVER, old,
Clear, turbulent, odd, scenic giver, bold.


With strength unshorn by time, and white of brow,
But not from years, I am the center now
For myriads that travel from far and
Near to view my Falls as the cascade grand.
My life is in the cycle of the rain,
My strength from waters the Great Lakes retain.


The first to view the drainage plan, of three
Such large lakes flowing into Erie free,
Thence through me to a fifth and on to sea,
Said, “This is quite rare and not apt to be.”
Important link am I, from fourth to last,
The present scanned, the future viewed, or past.


The deep flow of my misting Horseshoe Falls,
Out does thin water leaping from side walls.
The view and sound effects are rapturous,
The roar, thump grind and spray continuous.
At what they sense, the millions gaze appalled,
Awondering, breath indrawn, stilled, enthralled.   Continue reading “The River Niagara by Donald Lashelle”