stevengoldenpoetry

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 inscription on tombstones,

Albeit more encrypted. The wind that howls ignores these. 

Roosting owls carry none of these messages abroad.

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The Woods.  A past generation of seminarians 

Practiced their sermons out back by the river.

More recently, a poet stood in their stead pontificating verse,

Knowing their sacred example would imbue him with a blessing. 

But the river, now damed, does not float holiness, much less overflow with it.

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So what of Lakeland ‘s proselytizing mission?

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

That await a future class in archeology.

In order to be like Stephen Gould, who taught in Japan,

Let us follow in his footsteps indefatigably, as well as in each others.

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Resolute, we should not be mentored by memories. 

Rather, better to draw a map, test for a stout walking stave,

Then take it up with no goodbyes…and walk away.

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Steven Golden

June 13th, 2026