Poet, Essayist, Photographer, Naturalist

Author: Tom Stock Page 19 of 30

Tom Stock has been involved in the Long Island environmental and outdoor education community for decades.

He has published two books; THE NISSEQUOGUE RIVER: A JOURNEY and HIDDEN AGENDA; A POETRY JOURNEY. He has also published many essays and poems in such journals as the Long Island Forum and The Long Islander.

I’m K-Mart Shopper

A rainy, overcast day and what to do?? Let’s go shopping at K-mart with naturalist Tom Stock. I grab one of the monstrous shopping carts and am determined to fill it up. I join the consumers already in the store. There are many women, over weight, not very attractive, with huge cardboard boxes that look like skyscrapers sticking out of their carts. These women have smiles on their faces like Herring Gulls or ducks (whom always smile). There is a men arguing with their wives in angry tones over what kind of shampoo they should buy. There are over a hundred choices, so I can understand how difficult this decision must be for this couple. I overhear another man saying to his wife “You need a coupon!” in an urgent voice. I spotted a man sitting in the patio section sitting on a lounge chair with strange, distant eyes.

I had come to buy a four pack of color film. That’s all I intended to buy. So how come my receipt says $64.19?? I passed the blue gene section and tossed in two pairs. I needed candles. I picked out two Martha Steward decorator candles. However, I didn’t intend to decorate with them. They are the decorations; they don’t help with the decorations. Another example of package labeling that may suggest to the buyer that if you buy “decorator” candles, you can decorate. I saw a back scrubber so I thought I needed that. I’ve gotten along without a back scrubber for 20 years. All of a sudden I needed a back scrubber. It wasn’t as hard as I thought to fill up my shopping cart but I still had quite a bit of room left.

Up There

The ascent: sweaty and tiring

Grab trees to pull myself up

Frequent stops to catch my breath

Swig water, feel the mountain breeze

Where is the summit?

I long for the top

Views, the rest, the silence, the peace

 

Step by step, break by break

Swig by swig, tree by tree

How did all this rock rise

To puncture the sky?

The mountain slowly surrenders

I look up and see light

In the under story of forest

I’m close, I know I’m close

The mountain starts to level off

 

Breakout into overexposed gray rock

Relief, joy, vastness at my feet

A landslide of vistas and panoramas

I memorize the shadows

The mountains overshadowed

By mountains further off

Rounded summits far away

The sound of wind in the pines

I sit on a fissure with moss, an ant

I suck drafts of open space

Don’t let this end

Tom Stock

The Gold Spades

(In support of the Standing Rock Reservation)

They are lined up for the photo shoot

Reporters ready with note pads

A bevy of politicians, dressed in smiles

Hold gold-painted spades

For a groundbreaking event

They look to the cameras

Hunched with blades of dirt

The ceremonial toss of soil

To signify the start of another sky scraper

 

Or a new village of wigwams

To grow window dressing as proclaimed

“We are taking care of our Indigenous Brothers”

Thesis the start of a new Native American community

With all its infrastructure

New fire pits, fiber glassed dugouts

A cleared path to their “happy hunting grounds”

To energize their wampum business

For jewelry on display in a strip mall

That covers their sacred burial ground

 

Perhaps a shot of the Sachem and the developer

Standing in front of a tax-free cigarette outlet

While Natives stand by dumb struck

As they wait to be ushered

Into yet another smaller reservation

The treaty has an “X” signature assuring that

In case a pipeline has to pass through

There will be nothing they do co about it.

Behind the line of politicians, a sign…

“Community Redevelopment.”

Watching A Curious George Cartoon

Maybe there’s a message here

If so, what is it?

Curious George climbs, snoops,

And gets into everything he comes in contact with

Oops, he just stick his nose in a pot of glue

I can learn from this.

Is the Curious George show just a coincidence

When I turned on the TV?

Was this meant to be?

I was looking for the NYC Marathon

And you popped up

I wondered. is this a prompt for some poetry?

I am tempted and curious myself

What will happen next?

What’s your “big picture” message?

Be curious like me?

Everybody’s curious, I think

Perhaps to be more curious

I went to college and passed

I put my hand on the remote

To change the channel

“No. no, no Tom, don’t surf

Stay with me” Curious George begs

Look at him. adorable and charming

A furry little monkey

Oh my gosh, he’s opened a desk

In an elementary classroom looking at books

 

Wow, he is curious

So I decide to buy a scratch-off card

Because I’m curious to find out

What’s behind those little covered windows

So I scratch. YIKES I won! I won! A dollar

Being curious has paid off

Hey, this might be the big picture message

OK, Tom, get curious about

Something more important

Turn off the TV, get busy

Use my five senses

Start asking questions

I know I’ll find something

Let my curiosity grow.

Thanks Curious George

Baldwin Elementary Kids at the Hempstead Plains

November 4, 2016

I spent part of the afternoon with some children on the plains. The 19 acre site never looked better not only because of the beauty of grasses.  I watched the colorful jackets of children bounce and dodge in the distance as they made their way along the trail. I was glad to see this. This is what the place is for. This is the kind of playground I’d like to see for all children.

I was asked by Nomi to work with these 9 children to draw them out and try writing poetry. We started with a scavenger hunt.

Trapped In Suburbia: The Poem

A wrong turn into a Cul de sac. I’ll figure it out.

Where am I ?

How do I get out of here?

Trapped in a one way in/way out suburban development

Surrounded by cookie cutter houses that all look the same

Hey, wait A minute, I was just on Elm Street.

Streets with names of the trees that used to live here.

At least residents can live with the NAMES OF TREES

Oops another wild goose chase. Calm down Tom. Stay calm.

Looking for a remnant of Pine Barrens forest

In Medford. Yes, that’s right little ole Medford

I said Medford –  a hamlet with five huge get-lost-in developments

Holiday decorations already up and it’s the first of November

Where am I ? Where the fuck am I?

Another blind alley and I’ll shoot myself. Now I’m breaking a sweat

All it took was one wrong turn. I’m actually getting scared..really!

I’m stressed, trapped in a maze.  LET ME FREE. I shout

In a labyrinth of u-turns with one ways, always the wrong way for me

I’m lost in a wilderness of houses and driveways

I’m trapped in Medford. Oh my god, somebody please help me.

Let me out of here! Should I call 911?  Cops would laugh at me.

As far as I’m concerned, this is an emergency.

I pull over and ask a resident. “Sorry, can’t help you. I’m just visiting”

Lead me out of this development somebody please

I just want to go home

Is that so wrong?

Tom Stock                                          November 3, 2016

Cupsogue Beach County Park Report

Cupsogue is a strange name for a park. It sounds like a local Native American term. Wikipedia confirmed my suspicion. “…dated from the 1690’s, local Indians called it Cupsogue meaning “closed inlet,” A 1931 nor’easter opened it again and it was widened during the hurricane of 1938. I suspect that the location and narrowness of the barrier beach has caused it to open and close several times over centuries. Perhaps local Indigenous residents witnessed one of its closings.

The park is located at the dead end of Dune Road. It is fronted on three sides by water, the Atlantic, Moriches Bay, and Moriches Inlet. The inlet has been bolstered by two long rock jetty’s to curtail erosion. On either side, 15 foot high iron towers mark the opening.

Last Work/share Day at Homecoming Farm; October 25, 2016

After 22 Thursdays of two hours work for Nancy and me, we’ve come to the end of the organic farming season. Today, Nancy shoveled and carted wheelbarrow’s full or organic compost to spread on the new garlic plot.

I gathered hoses and sprinklers to stow over the winter. The farm is a lonely place in winter, bees sequestered in their hives, tools locked in the shed, walk in cooler turned off, irrigation valve shut off, tractor and attachments covered.  It is sad to end one season on the soil for the next is jackets and hats.

I cut down three vagrant trees growing in the row of raspberry bushes. Today was a slow day for workers so I took time to pick and eat what ripe raspberries were left.

Notes on 77th Birthday October 19, 1939

Still healthy

The boy within still acts up

 

Thrills over a nature discovery

Loves toes in morning dew

Hikes with Mark

Dinners with Nancy watching 6PM PBS news

Scouting the organic farm for ravens

Puttering in the garage

Growing spinach, chard, and zinnias

Writing poems and essays for tomstock.org

Coffee and New York Times in the morning

The afternoon nap

Making a stir fry

Time in the man cave

Shopping the produce isle at Best Market

Keying out a mushroom

Visiting Bob’s Lot in Edgewood Preserve

The dunes at Babylon Overlook

Presenting power point Secrets of Sampawans Creek program

Creating collages and constructions

Sifting compost

Grand kids Owen and Maggie, Daughters Julie and Jenny

Attending programs at the Walt Whitman Birthplace

Being on the Hempstead Plains

Visiting with friend Darrel Ford

Doing little science experiments

Going to yard and garage sales with Nancy

 

I am happy that after 21 years of retirement, I am fully engaged and am contributing to my      family, immediate community, and region

 

I am thrilled that I have a site on the internet where I can post samples of my writing. Writing is one of the most important things I do. I write about my nature experiences in essay and poetry. I believe that my writing is a “force for the environment”( Max Wheat comment)

 

Tom Stock

“What good is a nice house if you don’t have a healthy planet to put it in?”

“What good is a nice house if you don’t have a healthy planet to put it in?”                                                                                             H.D. Thoreau

A nice house is useless if our bigger house is fowled. The pathology works from both ends, top-down and down-up. Let’s start with population growth. Boom, WAIT! This essay has to stop right here. Native American built structures that decomposed and left no toxic remains. Now, archeologists clamor to find remnants to learn about their lifestyles.

Our houses need water, electricity, food, clothing, petrochemicals for our gas grills and cars. YES – Remnants end up in our bigger house and has come back to bite. 9 billion residents in the big house is a bit much, don’t you think? But, now that we have them, what to do? While governments try to do the big stuff, we try with the little stuff. Still, sustainibility isn’t happening.

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