Jump The Turnstile

Jump the Turnstile (JTT) gives opportunity to creative writers, dancers and animators to explore and realize their work outside of the classroom, to experiment, and to have fun. Similarly, it enables collaboration among student artists working in mediums outside of their own, granting them the opportunity to see how their work is interpreted by other artists.

The poetry is written by the following students from Morristown High School: Amarilis Mancelli, Jay Hill, Kai-Simone Cumberbatch, George Spenser, Mia Raste, Adriana Malo, Kylah Diaz, MJ King, Alexis Moran, Odalis Huinil, and JJ Breslin.

Her Lonely Aching

By Amarilis Mancelli

Diluted music 

and muffled conversation sound softly

far past my empty walls

My discarded cracked window 

bathes me in crisp winter air 

and drowns me in a moonlit blue 

I listened to the sheets underneath me

Rustling softly

After what felt like the first time I’ve moved in hours

As slow knees press to my chest

I smooth my tingling fingertips 

over the bones

And a shiver creeps its way down my spine

As the first tear slides down my cheek

False Alarm

By Jay Hill

They say that when you're born in a burning house you think the world’s on fire.

Well, that's cause it is.

I don’t think, I know.

Personally

I find it worrying that you think the world isn’t on fire.

The smoke is thick and black and it’s hellish hot everywhere you go.

What do you mean?

There is smoke,

I can feel it in my lungs,

It’s a burn and ache I’ve grown accustomed to

It never goes away.

Well … well, just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Maybe its not as thick as I said but its there.

I probably just have keen sense for these things.

So keen that I even know when things are going to burn.

It’s why I never let anyone or thing get too close

Or I just burn things myself.

There’s no use in delaying the inevitable

Twiddling your thumbs when you know what's going to happen.

It may not look like the world is burning but it is, I can tell.

You may not see it and I may not see it but I feel it

 And if I feel it this much then it has to be true.

Everything is burning or going to burn soon enough.

How do I know?

Well, all I know is flames

Nothing else makes sense.

After The Storm

By Kai-Simone Cumberbatch

My brain filled to it’s brim

Charcoal, grey

Escape is what I yearn for

To be freed from the dangers of my own mind

I’ve run into the storm

bolts absorb my soul

Tainting what once was beauty with despair

There’s never an exit from that storm

I’ve ripped apart my room

A sobbing mess

I hold myself

crying out in pain

So, I sit 

Dance, laugh, and yell

The disaster in my head now dissipating 

After the storm

Possibilities

By George Spenser

We can dance a fable

Your eyes on me alone

Careful to make contact

An alluring possibility

It’s a ruse, maybe

Or something else

Something you can latch onto 

And hold on tight 

We can sit in the 

Glow of the tv screen

Browse through a 

Catalog of your favorite memories

The snow sits cautiously

On your fur-lined jacket

Like a mellow breeze

It strokes through your hair

It's a love

And its young

Like your skin

Our carefully intertwined fingers

Our house could be a cottage 

Filled with garage-sale memoirs 

A small portrait of us

The soon-to-be family we could make

A nice neighborhood

Everyones connected

We’ll watch our kids walk on the cement

Until it becomes two fresh hands on your dad's old car

We could sit in the glow

For the rest of eternity

Just us

Us two,

Together

But that will never happen

You’re just a fleeting moment

Mortal Personification

By Mia Raste

The trees were like torches-

orange, red, and yellow.

Each vibrancy gleamed in its own way.

To me, it only brought out the fire in your eyes.

The leaves scurried as I lightly dragged my feet, each leaf rising and falling

as if it were the ocean along a beach.

I once picked off a withered leaf from your hair.

I looked down at the contents in my hand, it wasn’t perfect: 

yet it was organic.

Slightly damp from the rain;

the petal, tapped, withered, and absorbed by raindrops,

was from intricate, mossy patterns on the wood.

Like palms,

we read about their lives.

And like ours, their childhoods reflected their shape.

As we traced our fingers along the indents, we noticed how it continued on without us:

up to the copper specks above.

My own person 

By Adriana Malo

What if I like being alone

I’m independent 

Others call it boring

But I do my own thing

Sorry I’m not a follower

I’m my own person

You’re in a glamorous tiny tight dress

I’m in baggy clothes and a messy bun

You stay home all summer

I’m in a paradise full of smiles

You’re at home bored, frowning

Yet I’m considered boring

Unknown Poet

By Kylah Diaz

Constant fear of failure

Unwanted thoughts fill my head

Tears soak up my page 

Words jumble together

Who knew homework could be so stressful

I write one thing

Then erase it thinking every word on my paper is a mistake

But..

When my pencil hits my paper the third time

Thoughts paint themselves into imagery

A paragraph of all the good things in my life 

A smile appears on my face like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy day

The fear of failure had gone away, my feelings felt valid

Writing gave me something nothing else could

My story could be written, failure only existed in my head

No right or wrong way to express myself

I step in front of the shiny glass mirror and see an unknown poet

ready to show her hidden talent

Hellfire or: How Destructive Flames Ignite Freedom

By MJ King

Coal fuels the ignition of confusion, 

combusting with denial you're hopelessly in

your life up in flames, ablaze.

By now you should’ve seen it,

incompetence backfiring

soul recoiling,

embers, always eternal, never burning out,

scorched into your head.

Forever charred,

it’s arson,

you sparked this. 

Before your own heart light afire,

kindle your passion,

stare into the flame’s reflection,

and rise from the ashes.

The flames of freedom provide warmth,

not an earth left scorched.

Nevermore the vastness of territory,

but the good of your deed.

For without honor, victory is hollow.

Through My Window

By Alexis Moran

slinking in,

through the window

night after night

shadows following,

moonlight disguised,

the darkness overwhelming

sun up,

sun down,

moon out,

window open

the heavy cloak covers my mind,

draping over my consciousness,

keeping me from rest

a relentless cycle,

repeated, no stop,

over and over it comes,

sliding below the glass

tonight I'm tired,

so while the moon's out,

the window stays shut

Blossoms

By Odalis Huinil

She who is only eleven finds herself hanging on 

To the unknown age of the trees skin  

Where she steps on the trunk 

Fingers deep under sturdy bark 

Hauls her body closer 

Swinging herself higher she reaches for the trees arms 

A wondrous place to be, above all 

Blistered palms extend as her body leans towards them 

They are the pink blossoms she so desperately yearns for

$28 Ticket 

By JJ Breslin

I'm unsure of this nauseating feeling

This never-ending motion of the train

My eyes are blanketed by the heat

Spewing out from the machine above me

I hear the wind rye up into my ear

As a cool breath spills over my neck

I listen to the mumbling mothers 

Yelling at their children climbing the carryon shelves

I silently eavesdrop on a group of tourists

Prepping to see structures invented for mere profit 

A small screech conveys the train to a final destination

I allow my eyelids to leisurely rise

Examining an unsettling view of dimmed lights

Which rearranges the shadows across the empty tracks

Underneath the dirt and grim of these thick concrete walls,

Holds beauty and foundation for a city of solace.