Meet Dr. Al Laster

To put it simply, our vision is created by every member of our community.  We believe that when people express their passion, creativity and vitality, they connect with others and communities are formed.  That’s why the atmosphere at The Watermark is as vibrant and unique as our residents themselves. Meet Dr. Al Laster, resident of The Watermark at East Hill, and we think you’ll see what we mean.

It’s one thing to have the ability to compile words and phrases that ring true and burn with the depth, joy and gravity of Dr. Laster’s poems.  To be passionate about sharing those talents with aspiring poets is another thing entirely.  This nationally acclaimed writer leads the East Hill Poet’s Circle and packs the house with his readings.  We’re amazed by his accomplishments as well as his poetry.  For an array of accolades, achievements, links to recent interviews and a wealth of poems you’ll turn to again and again, visit his website at www.lasternet.com/aml/.

We’re honored that a poet of his stature chooses to live at The Watermark at East Hill, but we’re even more grateful for the contributions he brings to our community by expressing his true self.

A heartfelt thanks to Dr. Laster for permission to post this poem here on our site.  While reading it, we invite you to consider your own passions and ways you celebrate self expression.  We’d love to talk with you about how life at The Watermark can empower you to express your Self®.

 

TURNING CARTWHEELS
The earth, grooved in its habitual orbit,
is spinning toward summer.
Warmed by the nearing sun, the days
are lengthening like shadows
before the dying light,
and on the lawn, a child,
two generations removed,
is turning cartwheels.

Sitting in a peel-paint lawn chair,
I think I see his mother in some
past performance, displaying
the same agile gymnastics;
and this grandfather wonders
that life repeats the way spring,
and tulips, and terror
cartwheel predictably through time.

A few thousand miles from this lawn,
in any direction, there are places
where winter seems stuck,
stuttering its doom like a broken record;
places without love, where children
are huddled in shattered houses,
eaten by hunger and flies,
alien to joy and the careless
practice of the cartwheel.

When exuberant Martin spins
through the air, the world of his
childhood turns upside down,
and he is walking on bouncy clouds,
dipping his young feet in the
blue of sky, so that he might write
his name on the earth, the minute
his vaulting shadow spills upright
on the soft belly of summer.

So, let it be.  May each spin bring
him joy, and give him lift for
the turn yet to come.
May he be spared the earthbound
tug of pain and calamity,
and may the force of the feet
of all the young cartwheelers
steady the world and bring
summer and healing in its turn.
           Alvin M. Laster