Jump The Turnstile Poetry
This September, we feature the work of students at Morristown High School who participated in Arts by the People’s 2024 Jump the Turnstile Project. This collaboration brought together creative writing students from the high school, choreographers and dancers from Montclair State University, and digital media and animation from students at Maryland Institute College of Art. The resulting live mixed-media performances explored the power of expression across different art forms, highlighting the creative spirit and celebrating a diverse set of talents. This month, we are featuring the work of the student poets who contributed to this year’s showcase.
Scene at the Symphony
by Natalie Verga
Across the auditorium in a gold-flushed balcony, a little boy rises from his mother’s lap
Floating above the worn velvet seats
To conduct the musicians in their weaving blooming song
Aiding the violins as they soar over the winds
And urging on the lone percussionist in keeping the beat
He feels no one else
He sees himself at the forefront of the stage
He becomes the one becoming the sound
In his eyes a tremendous sight
In his hands the whole world
Commanding notes overlapping
Creating multitudes shimmering
The audience below him notice not his task
Eyes fixed on the shining show
As the boy sweeps his arms
A maestro in his universe alone
Expectations
by Elva Siverrtsson
Coffee grinds color my scent
Chatter vibrates off the walls
Baristas unbothered as puffy steam rises
Through the tedious process of coffee-making
A woman with bright red lipstick
With an even brighter purse accessorizing her floral dress
Scratches her silver hair
She sits solo at a table for two
Been sitting ever since my arrival
Sitting patiently
Her hot coffee wrapped into her pair of hands
While a second lone cup sits by the empty seat across from her
High expectations twinkle in her eyes
Seconds become minutes
Precious time wasted
Her feet start to tap
Hands start to rub
All as her expectations
drown in her eyes
As the abandoned
coffee gets
cold
Alexithymia
by George Spenser
Is it stupid that
this small
meager
brittle feeling
overtakes my body?
Like a wave
crashing from my feet
to my ankles
dipping myself
in muddy water
I cling to the feeling
to the touch
without semblance
without reason
the physical act of love
Heartbeat stalling my lungs
red light flickering
I am the moth
pulled into a false sun
I am the yarn
from a long and grandiose needle
matted with rust
I am the steam
whistling out of coffee
two cups
chipped at the handle
partaking in their shared history
I am the sleeve
facing an onslaught
of arrows
piercing skin
drawing blood
Because, truthfully
What is this feeling if not something to cry for?
Beautiful Perfection
by Selah Madison Raphael
I watch as she unloads her bag that holds the algebraic equation called makeup.
Perfection equals mascara plus brow tint plus eyeshadow.
Remove excess from both to find x.
Find an acute angle to achieve the perfect liner.
Remember the order of operations
Add foundation then base,then concealer
Then add bronzer, contour,highlighter and brows but make sure it’s a congruent amount
And that both sides are equal.
And if she solves the equation correctly
X will equal
Beautiful perfection.
Stargirl
by Lily Wintermute
City lights, an endless neon,
shine brighter when enclosed in a midnight sky.
The stars are hiding,
and you are trying to pick them out
in the invisible mist that covers them.
Your back turned to the casino,
your eyes scan the firmament
for an answer as to why the moon chased its children away.
Why when you look up,
glitter does not rest in the reflection of your eyes,
why the electric billboards never go out,
and why no one seems to be searching for an answer,
just.
As you are.
Their smiling,
faces as they cross the streets,
skip across sidewalks,
hollering out to the night.
Their cheering and dancing
and wildly throwing themselves into the air,
radiating in fluorescent light.
And you turn your body to face them,
part your lips,
point to where the stars should be
and the moon still is.
But you forget.
As they walk past you,
walk through you.
That you are but only a shadow,
who wishes
to be heard.
Envy
By Sophia Ricciardelli
Deep inside my emerald closet
at the core of my being,
familiar velvet garments,
A feeling flashes by
like a fox through the brush
The slightly sheer cashmere sweater
that falls in just the right places
Necklaces discarded in a dish
unable to tell gold apart from silver
On a chilly November night
I watch the trees in transition
Once adorned with frilly paper-like leaves,
now only bare branches
lonely and waiting for their life to be brought back
The smooth, clear vase sits on the table
shattering the second I look at it.
And the sound of crackling glass
burns like coffee with no milk
Concrete
by Kaitlyn McNutt
Another worm on the sidewalk.
What happens to them?
They crawl up
Out of the dirt
Into a new place
A kinder place
Or so it seems
Forever doomed with promises of damp, soon brittle,
Concrete
Another duck in the freezing pond.
What happens to them?
They prepare for flight
Flying as one entity
For a new place
A warmer place
Unaware of those beneath
A bullet flies through them as they fall to the
Concrete
Another deer walking through the road.
What happens to them?
They who appear
Early at dusk heading
To a new place
A more lush place
Or so they think
Always quickly stopped and left discarded on the
Concrete
Another tree in the forest.
What happens to them?
The ones that send
Out their seeds
Offering a new place
A greener place
Because they know
That they will soon be replaced in these woods by
Concrete
I fear the day we all turn to concrete
That in our deaths
Our tombstones
Indicating we are in a place
A so called better place
Will take over our presence
Sending us forth as we return like much else,
To concrete
Red Light
by Christopher Cioffi
as the autumn wind whips up the street,
the light turns from yellow to red
a white pickup truck
rusted fenders
deafening loud muffler
growls to a stop
a man with a white beard
tattered blue baseball cap
rolls down his window
arm resting on the door frame
he turns up the volume
singing along
to September
by earth wind and fire
as a blue lexus
shining in the midday sun
coasts to a stop
next to the truck
a woman
wearing a cream coat
gold bracelet
looks in the mirror
applying eyeliner
she reaches for the window
to block out the sound
when suddenly
something stops her
her hand bobs to the song
head doing the same
her face smiles slightly
she stops the window
the man with the white beard glances over
two strangers make eye contact
letting the flow of the song
connect them
suddenly the light is green
the truck goes straight
lexus makes a left
the two disappear from each other
unlikely to cross paths again
but for that one
seemingly insignificant moment
the red light
and the music
brought them together