Tag: poems

Lines Written at Niagara by Oliver Oldschool, Esq.

oldschool
Joseph Dennie / Oliver Oldschool, Esq., by James Sharples c1790
Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Whate’er I’ve been told of thy wonders is true !
All nature at once seems to rush on my view,
And, lost in the trance you occasion, I cry,
How stupendous the scene ! what an atom am I !
How thy waves, wildly foaming, and hurled around,
Rise in volumes of mist from thy cauldron profound,
And in tears, which thy fury has caused, brightly plays,
The rainbow that dazzles my sight with its blaze !
Like the tyrant of Europe, whose merciless force
Bears down ev’ry mound which opposes his course :
While the halo, whose glory encircles his head,
Is formed by the tears which the wretched have shed.
O who should not rather all glory forego,
Than gain it by battle, and bloodshed and wo !
O who would not rather inhabit the vale,
Than dwell on the Andes, the sport of each gale !
Near Etna I’ve stray’d with impressions most sweet,
Through vineyards that circle with verdure its feet ;
But felt not the least inclination to tread
On the ashes which cover its cloud-piercing head.
And though with sensations I ne’er knew before,
I bend me enraptur’d to list to thy roar,
And, as thy blue streams irresistibly roll,
Feel the awe most sublime which possesses my soul ;
Yet I would not for worlds that my life were like thee !
O far be each thought of such tumult from me !
Far, far be each wish that ambition might form
To delight in the horrour and roar of the storm.
Let me, cool and clear, glide on free from all taint,
Dispensing relief to the weary and faint ;
No torrent that bursts to affright and amaze,
But the smooth, gentle stream, through the valley that strays.

Source:  The Port Folio. New Series, vol. 4, no. 1, July 4, 1807

Oliver Oldschool, Esq. was a pseudonym for Joseph Dennie. Read about Dennie

 

Kirk Raymond Jones by T. W. Kriner

kirk
Handwritten note to T.W. Kriner from Kirk Jones

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

Read about Kirk Raymond Jones

A Seneca Clan Mother Reflects on the Recent Suicide at the American Fall by T. W. Kriner

seneca
A View of Niagara Falls in 1799 by Edmund Henn
Watercolour wash by Jane Merryweather. Image courtesy of Niagara Falls (Ontario) Public Library

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 Call of Tawiskaro & Other Tales of Woe and Whimsy. 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. 

A Niagara Guide for Someone You Loathe by T. W. Kriner

kriner
Terrapin Point and Tower by Ferdinand Richardt, 1856. Image courtesy of Niagara Falls (Ontario) Public Library

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

Epistle From Niagara by William Wilson

william
William Wilson
From his book Poems

                         To Jeanie 

Dear Jeanie, while the deaf’ning roar
Of Niagara shakes the shore,
And in a misty mantle hoar,
                                Shrouds rock and tree,
My thoughts fly homeward evermore
                               To worship thee.

ʼTis true, this is the place and time
To feel and foster the sublime ;
Where men of ev’ry hue and clime,
                                Meet to adore,
And the rapt spirit’s glowing hymn,
                                May heavenward soar.

Yet still thy form, my peerless Jean,
Is ever present to my e’en,
Lighting with smiles each sylvan scene
                                 By bower and hall,
Log-hut and hamlet, woodland green
                                 And waterfall.

And when alone I wond’ring stand
Amid these revelations grand,
Which the Almighty builder’s hand
                                 On high did rear,
I whisper, while my thoughts expand,
                                “ Would she were here ! ”

Would she were here to share my bliss,
Beholding grandeur such as this,
Where loud the tortur’d waters hiss,
                                 And bright on high
The rainbow in its loveliness
                                 Bedecks the sky.

Since first the stars together sung,
And earth was fair, and Time was young,
And Eden’s bowers responsive rung
                                 Man’s song of praise,
That bow of beauty there hath hung
                                 Its prism rays.

So o’er the scenes of storm and strife
That cloud the weary dream of life,
With pleasures scant, with sorrows rife,
                                 A bow shall be
Thy love, my own leal-hearted wife,
                                For aye to me.

Away, ye hours, on falcon wing,
And back the wand’ring Willie bring,
Who scarcely now can think or sing,
                                Of aught but hame,
And her the queen of all the ring,
                               Dear Jeanie Graham.

Source:  William Wilson, edited by Benson J. Lossing . Poems.  2nd ed.  Poughkeepsie, NY : Archibald Wilson, 1875.

This poem is not found in the 1st edition published 1869, but is also found in the 3rd edition of 1881

About William Wilson