stevengoldenpoetry

A Lakeland Benediction

In Memory of Stephen Gould

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Old Main.  There are secret graffiti written on the walls of its tower room. 

Rather than delinquent scribbling, by now they have acquired an aura

From the passing centuries akin to inscriptions on tombstones,

Albeit more encrypted. The wind that howls is oblivious.

No roosting owls, no hiding mice carry any of these messages abroad.

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The Woods.  Now ghosts, a past generation of seminarians

Practiced their sermons out back by the river.

Later, pontificating verse, a lone poet stood on the bank in their stead,

As if he were their shadow on the water, their echo above it.

But the river could never float holiness, much less overflow with it.

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What will be the tuning fork to vibrate Lakeland’s frequency anew?

News of it isn’t to be found here in the artifacts

Awaiting some future class in archeology.

Attuned to Stephen Gould, who established and taught in Japan,

Let us follow in his footsteps indefatigably, as well as in each other’s.

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Resolute, we should not be mentored by memories. 

Best to draw a map,

Test for a stout walking stave,

Pick it up without goodbyes…

And stride away.

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Steven Golden

June 13th, 14th, 15th, 2026