#niagara - Hello Poetry

When a detective falls in love, he does not know who to bill for expenses-- everything is up in the air. At a mixer for suspects, he invites me to dance via loudspeaker. Radiant in my white dress, I resemble a snowy owl even down to my carefully bandaged hand which he takes without hesitation. I whisper in his ear: I am Leon Czolgosz. Your heart is the President of the United States of America. We are dancing in Buffalo, city by the Niagara. My detective, of course, falls hard. The next time we meet, I wait for him in the bullpen at the police station. They know him there. They hire cellists. He confesses his deepest fantasy to me: I want to speak words of love to you via telephone with our hands naked and separated only by the safety glass. I want the call recorded and broadcast to wild lovers around the globe. Shortly after, we are married. I wear my favorite bearskin robe. My small black cubs frolic nearby, climbing the pews and then tumbling gaily down again. My detective is resplendent in his tuxedo. The hired band plays Funiculi Funicula. I snarl when my detective gets too close to the cubs, and this inflames him. At last, we lie in bed together, like busy machines come to rest. I am wearing nothing but the revolver-shaped earrings he has given me. My detective wears a felt fedora and a look of smug adoration like a daredevil over the falls in a barrel. I am The Queen of the Mist, suspected in various thieveries, check kiting, and jaywalking. Our love is an aviary where birds wheel above the thundering water like intelligent confetti. Look in your mailbox, I tell my detective. I have left you a valentine and an Easter egg. He asks if, after all, I am his mystery client. I enter a plea of innocent. My love is happy now, laughing.

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Jul 25, 2025

Jul 25, 2025 at 11:15 PM UTC

ShayCaroline

My Detective

When a detective falls in love, he does not know who to bill for expenses-- everything is up in the air. At a mixer for suspects, he invites me to dance via loudspeaker. Radiant in my white dress, I resemble a snowy owl even down to my carefully bandaged hand which he takes without hesitation. I whisper in his ear: I am Leon Czolgosz. Your heart is the President of the United States of America. We are dancing in Buffalo, city by the Niagara. My detective, of course, falls hard. The next time we meet, I wait for him in the bullpen at the police station. They know him there. They hire cellists. He confesses his deepest fantasy to me: I want to speak words of love to you via telephone with our hands naked and separated only by the safety glass. I want the call recorded and broadcast to wild lovers around the globe. Shortly after, we are married. I wear my favorite bearskin robe. My small black cubs frolic nearby, climbing the pews and then tumbling gaily down again. My detective is resplendent in his tuxedo. The hired band plays Funiculi Funicula. I snarl when my detective gets too close to the cubs, and this inflames him. At last, we lie in bed together, like busy machines come to rest. I am wearing nothing but the revolver-shaped earrings he has given me. My detective wears a felt fedora and a look of smug adoration like a daredevil over the falls in a barrel. I am The Queen of the Mist, suspected in various thieveries, check kiting, and jaywalking. Our love is an aviary where birds wheel above the thundering water like intelligent confetti. Look in your mailbox, I tell my detective. I have left you a valentine and an Easter egg. He asks if, after all, I am his mystery client. I enter a plea of innocent. My love is happy now, laughing.

38

You are the whooshing woman spewing out idea after idea, in a boardroom meeting full of men, who pay big bucks for your easy genius. Your constant shhhhh, remains the greatest reminder to stand silent, it is the wind of your water, that carries fish to a new life or the waiting beak of a gull. And as your water topples to the side, you become nature's velvet curtains forever drawn to hide secrets never meant for human consumption, it is there, where you declare victory over the paradox that is earth. Has anyone ever told you your movement is your stillness? Your calculated charm of "go" provides anchor to the nebulous change of man. Sometimes I can hear you in airplane cabins and in evening traffic, when I am really trying hard to return to nature. But most of all I hear you in relation, between two hearts beating with purpose, within a rapturous conversation about human chemistry. I'll admit, I have tried to carry you, but you are too slippery when wet, and you are always bursting with significant moisture.

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Jul 27, 2022

Jul 27, 2022 at 12:41 AM UTC

topacio

Niagara Falls.

You are the whooshing woman spewing out idea after idea, in a boardroom meeting full of men, who pay big bucks for your easy genius. Your constant shhhhh, remains the greatest reminder to stand silent, it is the wind of your water, that carries fish to a new life or the waiting beak of a gull. And as your water topples to the side, you become nature's velvet curtains forever drawn to hide secrets never meant for human consumption, it is there, where you declare victory over the paradox that is earth. Has anyone ever told you your movement is your stillness? Your calculated charm of "go" provides anchor to the nebulous change of man. Sometimes I can hear you in airplane cabins and in evening traffic, when I am really trying hard to return to nature. But most of all I hear you in relation, between two hearts beating with purpose, within a rapturous conversation about human chemistry. I'll admit, I have tried to carry you, but you are too slippery when wet, and you are always bursting with significant moisture.

34

We were laying in bed and I was drowning in your gaze. You wrapped your arms around me and slowly whispered in my ear that I was a national treasure to you. You told me my essence, my power, and my presence overwhelmed you and that I was your Niagara Falls.

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Oct 26, 2020

Oct 26, 2020 at 10:06 AM UTC

flamingogirl

Niagara Falls

We were laying in bed and I was drowning in your gaze. You wrapped your arms around me and slowly whispered in my ear that I was a national treasure to you. You told me my essence, my power, and my presence overwhelmed you and that I was your Niagara Falls.

9

Now listen well and hear this tale Of a sixteen year old lad Who with his wit and flying skill Made two great countries glad The chasm was eight hundred feet Across Niagara Falls The travelers could not get across The steep and spray soaked walls “We need a bridge”, cried engineers A modern thoroughfare But how to reach the other side? We cannot build on air A rocket or an arrow? No. But what about a kite? Let’s have a contest for the youth We’d have a start, though slight The people came with kites prepared For fame and a reward And Homan Walsh was very first To span the gorge with cord A string, then ropes, then cables spanned And soon the bridge was done The mighty falls could now be crossed With string it was begun And every great accomplishment Began with something small Remember Homan and his kite That bridged Niagara Falls

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Jun 2, 2019

Jun 2, 2019 at 10:04 PM UTC

bitcoinpoems

The Ballad of Homan Walsh (Prosperity Poem 28)

Now listen well and hear this tale Of a sixteen year old lad Who with his wit and flying skill Made two great countries glad The chasm was eight hundred feet Across Niagara Falls The travelers could not get across The steep and spray soaked walls “We need a bridge”, cried engineers A modern thoroughfare But how to reach the other side? We cannot build on air A rocket or an arrow? No. But what about a kite? Let’s have a contest for the youth We’d have a start, though slight The people came with kites prepared For fame and a reward And Homan Walsh was very first To span the gorge with cord A string, then ropes, then cables spanned And soon the bridge was done The mighty falls could now be crossed With string it was begun And every great accomplishment Began with something small Remember Homan and his kite That bridged Niagara Falls

28

C old & cool A iry & abuzz N atural & noble A ppetizing & appealing D angerous & dandy A muck & AWESOME

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Apr 27, 2017

Apr 27, 2017 at 7:46 AM UTC

redpandapoetry

Canada

C old & cool A iry & abuzz N atural & noble A ppetizing & appealing D angerous & dandy A muck & AWESOME

6

Day debt night wept sleep crept Attachment. Where is my attachment? evening out of balance The line of my life has broken off into separate identities Flower feather Hollow weather Moonlight Canyon Skylight childhood nostalgia Stolen star Battered cheekbones Of weary workers keeping to The hornet's nest Reality a constant terror Of city structures swallowing them whole. Blackbird rests on an Autumn branch of hidden meadow checking its wristwatch obsessively for the Hydrogen Volcano INEVITABLE. Termite Corporations Cavernous Hilltops All that green is gold (A straw man in Byzantine robes approaches the frosty Manhattan to become a relic in it's Libraries) People fall in Love with coincidence, (The illusion of order beyond our field or reach) All that love is kept in a Conservatory somewhere... Glossy stems connected to palpitating blossoms. Our tired eyes are focused to the asphalt confluence whether fever or handhold. Hymns ring throughout the forests of Vancouver Island Dreamers hang from the Niagara Trestle caught in overwhelming sunlight Doused in spirit. Holy Melancholic September Sweeps away the dusty Summer, everything seems renewed In the rain..

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Sep 2, 2015

Sep 2, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC

connor-j

Holy Melancholy (Everything Seems Renewed)

Day debt night wept sleep crept Attachment. Where is my attachment? evening out of balance The line of my life has broken off into separate identities Flower feather Hollow weather Moonlight Canyon Skylight childhood nostalgia Stolen star Battered cheekbones Of weary workers keeping to The hornet's nest Reality a constant terror Of city structures swallowing them whole. Blackbird rests on an Autumn branch of hidden meadow checking its wristwatch obsessively for the Hydrogen Volcano INEVITABLE. Termite Corporations Cavernous Hilltops All that green is gold (A straw man in Byzantine robes approaches the frosty Manhattan to become a relic in it's Libraries) People fall in Love with coincidence, (The illusion of order beyond our field or reach) All that love is kept in a Conservatory somewhere... Glossy stems connected to palpitating blossoms. Our tired eyes are focused to the asphalt confluence whether fever or handhold. Hymns ring throughout the forests of Vancouver Island Dreamers hang from the Niagara Trestle caught in overwhelming sunlight Doused in spirit. Holy Melancholic September Sweeps away the dusty Summer, everything seems renewed In the rain..

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