Our literary and art magazine, showcases the creative expressions of all students, faculty, and alumni. It features original art, time-based art, and creative writing. This 53rd edition of WINDOWPANES was student-run, student-led, and collaboratively produced with the club moderators. We accept all submissions for consideration throughout the school year but the ultimate decisions for selection are made by the publication’s leaders and moderators. Each work is chosen and curated based on technical merit, creativity, and relevance to the current theme. All original graphics and layouts were created in Adobe InDesign 2024 and all artworks were edited in Adobe Photoshop 2024. WINDOWPANES is printed by Rabbit Litho in Chino, California .
Armando D. Solares ‘24 Visual Arts Editor, Cover and Design / Mrs. Protsenko Visual Arts Faculty, Visual Arts Moderator, Layout Designer / Mr. McClenahen, English Language Faculty, Literacy Moderator / Ian Hong ‘25 Visual Arts Editor / Mace Barnes ‘25 Literary Editor / Lion Paulson ‘25 Literary Editor / Patric Roh ‘25 Literary Editor / Mr. Martino English Language Faculty, Literacy Moderator
(from left to right)
Adrian Martinez, Adrian Villavicencio,
Anthony Murphy, Antonio Catanzariti,
Aiden Zhang-Mastrapa, Alejandro Olea, Alejandro Olea, Alex Jankowski, Andrew Hilton,
Calli Earley, Camden Volkman, Carson Kuritani, Carter Earhart, Charlie Walter, Chris Donell, Christopher Wong, Clayton Smith, Dario Covarrubias, Deacon Dymtrow, Declan McGough, Declan Meyer, Devan Vadgama, Diego Beltran, Diego Pa Ortiz, Duke Giarraputo, Emil Mejia, Emile Hidalgo, Eric Baham, Emiliano Villegas, Emmett Martin, Emmett Ness, Enrique Huerte, Erwin Mansilla, Finn Corboy, Francisco Tesen, Gage Hall, George Clark, Grady Winget, Grafton Roderick, Gregory Berrios, Henry Bautista, Henry Fisher, Holden Smyser, Ian Estrada, Isaish Mauricio, Israel Ramirez, Jack Musitano, Jacob Dee, Jacob Friedman, James Ban, James Macdonald, Jaxon Guttentag, Jimmy Levy, Joaquin Lara, John Cowles, John Kuhl, John Robertson, Jonas Merchan, Joseph Schimoller, Joseph Stuart, Justin Smith, Kenneth Kun, Kenny You, Kyler Frial, Kyle Lamberth, Lenna Ruiz, Leo Grossman, Liam Skillings, Lincoln Martinez, Logan Perez, Luca Marucci, Lucas Garcia, Luke Brady, Marco Estrada, Marco Melika, Mateo Parra, Matthew Almendarez, Matthew Baker, Matthew Sasso, Maximo Gomez, Michael Kirst, Michael Celenza, Michael Krieger, Michael Volmert-Underbrink, Michael Kim, Milo Watts, Muge Yuan, Nate Baham, Nathan Valencia, Nelson Pye, Nicholas Sarte, Noah Jeong, Nolan Freyer, Oliver Payne, Patricia Meyers, Polina Protsenko, Patrick Holloway, Rafael Kelley, Redmond Sklaver, Renn Burke, Robbie O’Rourke, Ryan Ropp, Ryan Zhu, Ryker Holleman, Sam Middlesworth, Sam Shahin, Sebastian Boyle, Sebastian Lira, Silas Esparza, Spencer Oldoerp, Sutton Culp, Thatcher Hartman, Thomas Duran, Tomas Gonzalez, Tony Kim, Tristan Martini, Tyler Chong, Walter Thrasher, Wes McMullin, William Baghdaian, William Redmon, Zachary Harrison.
I am You
Your mind works differently Will You think loud, weird, full, smart, dumb, eyeless You see, everyone in and out, inside feelings You go, theirs,
they become Yours, feel, see hear, know things they can’t and won't and don’t, You see things in me I can't see in me Mind, heart, body, soul, life, thoughts but
I see you, those I don’t want to see those things which are you, truly, deeply, set in stone are you Scared fearless, quiet loud, calm, anxious, smart, dumb You
see you are as you see me I am you are me You, me what are we, two in one, stuck in one, complimenting
=clashing, clashing, complimenting You are I I is You And we, are we
William Redmon ‘24
Tyler Chong ‘25
Tyler Chong ‘25
Emile Hidalgo ‘24
Puff Puff, Emile Hidalgo ‘24
Blanco County
I killed a boy in Blanco County Red earth contrasting the Blue-Bonnett Country
The body left behind, a canvas of shame Maybe it was his father’s stern hands, His mother’s watchful gaze, A cruel world’s design, One thing for certain, It was not his.
When I saw the boy again He was a different man than before He was reshaped, renewed, and reborn.
The boy I had exorcised from his body died
But the man
The man, no longer a child, a survivor, a sage The man, a testament to the life that had molded.
And I, a silent yet present observer, bore witness to him Him, a new man found his own path at last.
Auston Fuller ‘24
Noah Jeong ‘25
Noah Jeong ‘25
To The Kid With His Thumb In His Mouth
Yo, thumb in your mouth kid, carry around your blanket “green night night,” when you are far too old, kid
What movie will you watch next, kid living in front of a screen couch potato, kid until your brother makes you play with him, kid
Ice cream for breakfast, kid Wake up at the break of dawn just to play before your brother wakes up, kid When he gets up it is no longer your time, take your thumb out of your mouth, kid
Start getting out in the world, kid Start on the football team, kid your name echoed as you run through the tunnel, kid Make the perfect throw He drops it
Run it back the next play
Get that good grade in geometry to make your mom proud Come home victorious Before you know it’s senior year
Take your time, kid
Enjoy it while it lasts, until they force you to grow up, until that thumb no longer fits in your mouth, kid
Aidan Turrill ‘24
Kyle Lamberth ‘24
Never Knows Best, Henry Bautista ‘24
First Steps, Henry Bautista ‘24
The American Sonnet of Surfing
Beneath the morning sun, waves unfold, allowing surfers to take rides untolled.
Gliding on massive walls, don’t go over-the-falls.
Getting back out there as fast as you can, trying to impress all the ladies by being a macho man.
Not knowing what’s to come, staying hungry for any crumb.
Fighting for every wave, feeling the oceans pulse so brave.
The waves rise like mountains, powerful and grand, helping surfers ride them all the way to the sand.
In the dance of tide and sand, a surfer’s stand, chasing dreams, they ride waves, O’ what a lfe so grand.
Emmett Martin ‘24
Emmett Ness ‘25
Emmett Ness ‘25
A Face a Mother Could Love
You smile at me and I smile at you. An infectious disease that stems from laughter and joy. A constant series of cause and effect. So cyclical and round like the pregnant womans stomach as she forms the unconditional love for somebody she's never met. You smile at your own joke while failing to complete it. You smile and I can see my father, a relationship so strange even in death. You smile and I can see my mother and her mother and hers before her. I smile because of you. I smile because you are an embodiment of pure and unconditional love. You are my son and I am your mother who made you from me. That's why I love you so much. That’s why I care for you so much. That’s why I smile so much.
Oliver Payne ‘24
Hope, Denial, and Despair, Aiden Zhang-Mastrapa ‘25
The Pedestal, Aiden Zhang-Mastrapa ‘25
Tony Kim ‘25
Tony Kim ‘25
California Fireworks
I’m your best friend -I know you You- you live so fearlessly You know what you want but You don’t got no plan. I like that Like you always said you find Purpose - you find happiness.
You don’t care what they think Ever since you moved you have Well a spark - like California Fireworks Out with old you - new one is much better our fuse hadn’t been lit yet - you know When you lived back in that small town
You were so quiet - skittish all the time Asking for permission to do what you wanted We all used to joke He's like a scared dog Not anymore man - your aura fills the room Ever since you moved man - your life shines Like California Fireworks.
I’m going to miss you - our lives will start We’ll grow apart - further than distance can express But… I will always remember you as that kid With enormous passion - a spark A spark - Like California Fireworks
James Macdonald ‘24
Clayton Smith ‘25
Henry Fisher ‘25
Cliff, Duke Giarraputo ‘25
Michael Kim ‘25
Punctuation Marks Campaign, Andrew Kowal ‘26
Gage Hall ‘26
Cask of Amontillado, Jacob Dee ‘24
Carter Ehrhart ‘26
Matthew Almendarez ‘26
Robbie O’Rourke ‘26
Caleb Yost ‘26
Sam Shahin ‘26
Devan Vadgama ‘26
James Ban ‘24
Walter Thrasher ‘25
Lincoln Martinez ‘26
2027 Schubert Ständchen (Liszt’s transcription)
Nate Baham ‘27
We Know Not Eachother
I don’t know where you’re from, just a fancied up glitch boy, you can’t stand these words I impose on you, bi@#% boy.
Sticks and stones never broken a bone up at your crib, & here I am trying not to break you so you don’t snitch, boy.
In the time of your absence, am I replaceable or are you, I’m still here waiting for you to tell me which is which, boy
I will never know why you do it, no matter how many times, why do you still think you can change? You ain’t sh@#, boy.
I know not who you are, and you’ll never know who I am, don’t trust those stories you hear ‘bout me. She’s a witch, boy.
Why is it broken? Did I do this, or you? It don’t matter, pick up the shards, dust off the sewing machine & stitch, boy!
I love you, Auston, now promise you won’t ever forget that, no matter how many times I struggle to prevail, never quit, boy.
Auston Fuller ‘24
The Hills of Mogh
Water rushing like blood Gushing into the river And throughout the land
The hills cry like a bloody lamb Into the night Goes the fright Never to be seen again
Renn Burke ‘27
Wanted Poster, Brody Salz ‘25
Elias Duran ‘26
Francisco Tesen ‘26
Poem For The Oldest Kitchen In The Family
on the bottom of my grandparent’s apartment in the city, is a small room you look around and see the stone couch, the crushing chair.
you look to the right and see the cabinet corner. you’d think an old guy would use an old kitchen, but it's a retouching flair
the newest fridge, two of them, another outside the ancient table in the middle of the room - plates all over the stunning square
a small sink, built for a few people at most a faucet, standard in every aspect possible yet always flooding when unaware
my other grandparents live in a house in the countryside open space everywhere, big jars always left in stunning pairs
the big countertop going all around the corner of the house all that space left for one person to do some grueling care
a small cityside, a big countryside such a commonplace around the world, yet nothing but rare.
Kenny You ‘24
Nelson Pye ‘26
Andrew Hilton ‘26
Dreams of American Sonnet
When my mom told me that I was worth nothing Of value, I felt empty for a second.
When my dad told me that I was a failure who achieved Zero, I told him he did not deserve to speak To me about a life he was absent from. I turned to my peers at school, seeking recognition, Their temporary joy but miles between us Because I knew that this would not last forever
At night I became deaf, lasting until Morning where I belong, telling myself honeyed words Of better tomorrows. Deep down I knew This was wrong. I hated the realistic feelings Of those unrestful fantasies. I pondered alone staring
At the darkness Between the ceiling fan blades, eyes finally awake.
Ryan
Zhu ‘24
Patrick Holloway ‘24
Jacob Dee ‘24
Southern Bell
The Holy Trinity, the divine unity onions, bell peppers, and celery
Bell peppers, celery, and onions the constituents of the perfect recipe
The perfect recipe calls for these ingredients patience, thankfulness, and compassion thankfulness, compassion, and patience virtues kneaded into me by her gentle hands
fragile hands carefully knead our values a reflection of our past generations
a gift from generations that came before as we accept these values into our bodies
the values we ingest and accept as one
The Holy Trinity, the divine unity
Oliver Payne ‘24
Aiden Kim ‘24
Disorientation
I loved you but it was boring Archetypes of structures I’m conceding to Aren’t there other interests in my mind? Other desires, wants, and ideas inside of there?
The creativity I grasp shouldn’t come from you But for some reason it does
There’s more to life than love But seemingly not for me
I can’t even find a purpose
To formulate anything else I complain to myself about finding nothing But when I look back it’s right in front of me
Once in a while I think I’ve got it I roll back in enjoyment
Pretending to light a cigar
But it’s still chasing me down
Charlie Walter ‘25
Adrian Villavicencio ‘26
Grafton Roderick ‘25
Adolescent Cities
The night was a Blur of flickering neon, reverberation of pandemonium throughout the crowded enclosure of TV screens and music.
I was thinking of you from a dream the night before, the serendipitous events that occurred over the summer, brought us closer together.
Two lost souls trotting aimlessly through the chaotic adolescent cities. As the night went on, the memory of you began to slip.
You fell into unconsciousness, my eyes began to wander Away from our adolescent voyage of connection and back to the flickering neon.
I met another girl that night, one I saw fit to fill my of teenage angst. I thought the experience with her would help me forget about our own distance.
A barrier of miles that inhibited our exploration of those adolescent cities The unforeseen consequences of that night were far less than apparent to me
A connection with another lost human at that time did not seem to impede upon our connection. That was not the case
I wanted to tell you, get it off my chest, I had made another connection An escape, a form of art that shouldn’t need explanation, but it did.
I didn’t have to say anything, you knew what had happened.
James Macdonald ‘24
Nicholas Sarte
Cram
Every test, assignment, an opportunity to cram Never do I submit within the time span
As the stress of procrastination begins to thicken To go study or to go strangle my chickens
Never enough time, never enough sleep Never has the slumber been needed so deep To submit on time would be a feat Of a time doing this I cannot think
As I write this on the 22nd
And the deadline tomorrow begins to threaten I cannot think but of how ironic To cram this poem would be iconic
So now I give to you my final verse The lack of sleep being my curse An answer to this question I need to cater Should I finish this now or should I finish it later
Sebastian Lira ‘25
Maximo Gomez ‘24
The Locker
A circular dial, On a dark board of steel, One in a long aisle, There to act as a seal, A simple safeguard, A reliable gating, Making entry hard, Always watching and waiting.
Day after day, sitting in the long hallway, There it will stay, one locker of an array. Students pass by, Never glancing at it twice, Always nearby, Security it will entice, Easy to unlock, Just a few turns of the knob, Armed with a padlock, The contents are hard to rob.
Day after day, sitting in the long hallway, There it will stay, one locker of an array. The turn of a wheel, The steady inner tick, Rusty hinges squeal, With a precise and clean click, The contents are seen, Whether cleanly or a mess, A simple machine, Sheltering and nothing less.
Day after day, sitting in the long hallway, There it will stay, one locker of an array.
Diego Pa Ortiz ‘26
Remond Skalver ‘26
Silas Esparza ‘25
Ian Estrada ‘24
Micheal Krieger ‘26
America Sings All Around Me
America sings all around me, everywhere.
America sings through the box on the wall,
America sings through the loud, wailing, red and blue.
The cries here,
The marches there,
The singing happens everywhere.
The songs of then,
The songs of now,
All different,
Yet, all the same.
Forever,
And ever,
The singing has gone on.
Every chorus,
From a different singer;
Every chorus,
From the same writer.
Will the singing ever stop?
Jimmy Levy ‘26
Sebastian Boyle ‘26
Luca Marucci ‘26
Binford Rohmer ‘26
John Cowles ‘26
Flying Higher
Lord God, tell me what’s this life I’m living...
Nights go long, not writing songs, I’m writing like my mind is tripping. Bottles, shots, and pistols popped, please tell me you don’t mind me sipping. What You Got? Too many thoughts, I overthink while time is ticking.
I just guess my mind is different,
Different like, upside down turned sideways and precisely twisted Twisted like, I try and look at God but feel enticed and misfit, Misfit like, I belong and don’t, throughout those lines I’m mixed in.
Is it really me that’s messed up?
I know I had some blessings in my life until I screwed up and wrecked them. Tensions, you can feel them in the sky, but you can’t get the message But even though those texts will end up dry, you’re desperate so you sent them. Through my sinning there is pain, through my pain there is forgiveness. Forgive me for my worldly ways, I blame it on the world we live in. Once the flame has been ignited, I know I will feel the fire Sometimes you need to hit the ground, so you can end up flying higher.
Sutton Culp ‘26
About A Bird
(A Requiem for the Fallen California Condors)
In skies so blue, I opened up my wings, Now in forests I once knew, lay decapitated trees. The air I once breathed now ridden with lead, Thanks to Industrialization, my brothers have bled.
I soar high above, heart heavy with dread, My babies nesting below, their future hanging by a thread. The once vast skies now shrinking; death lurks so near. Will they know true freedom, or vanish in fear?
I watch with despair as their numbers die, My precious children, their fate intertwined…
I hope for a future where they’ll fly free, And the skies’ll echo with their sweet melody.
Alex
Jankowski ‘25
Jaxon Guttentag ‘26
Muge Yuan ‘26
Rafael Kelley ‘25
Remorse, Lion Paulson ‘25
Patricia Meyers, Fine Arts Faculty
Juan Martin: Productivity Personified
0600 hours.
His alarm rang, and he woke up. No sooner, no later. Juan Martin always had his life in order. Every hour of every day was carefully planned and accounted for. Productivity was his end, and organization was his means. There was no time for lassitude. There are only 24 hours in a day, 28,835 days in an average human life. Every second counts. It all had to be perfectly planned and timed. Straitlaced and stringent, he held to his mission as if it were his life. It was his life. He jolted from his yoga mat. Beds are inefficient. It takes time to wash sheets, time to free oneself from covers, and time to select a mattress. Time, time, time. Time is of the essence. He pulled out his intravenous needle. Hydration is necessary; drinking is not. Nutrition is necessary; eating is not. He began his core workout.
0700 hours.
He was, of course, in peak physical shape. The discipline that permeated every corner of his life had manifested itself in the epitome of athleticism that was Juan Martin. His progress produced an aplomb that aggrandized his resolve. It was the visible sign through which his inward discipline blazoned its fruitfulness. Throughout the years, it had chipped away at nagging doubts, at any desire for comfort; it extricated all weakness from his body, freeing him from the shackles of humanity. To transcend the inefficiency of sleep, one link in the chains of humanity, Juan manufactured a system of electrodes that stimulated his muscles throughout the night. The system resulted from a gross miscalculation on his part. Juan had allotted himself an hour to finalize accounting reports for five of his clients, but the task only took 21 minutes. Adhering to his standard protocol for such crises, Juan immediately went to his lab, tinkering with his remaining 39 minutes. The electrode system was the product of that labor, expiating the sin of his error. The system ensured that there would be no hiatus in his efforts. Each hour had to be used to its fullest. Juan abominated anything less than the optimal. To knowingly tolerate inefficiency is to knowingly compromise with evil, and compromise is the first step to surrender. Juan could not surrender. The invention further expedited his progress, turning the unproductive scourge of sleep into a beautiful time of growth, but it could only do so much.
0800 hours.
He walked to his monitors. They were already on. Booting up a computer takes time, reopening tabs takes time, and loading takes time. Time, time, time. Like owning a bed, turning off his computer was a comfort Juan could not afford. He had grown accustomed to the light, which was, in fact, the only light in the room. There were no windows, no doors, and no ornamentation of any kind. An austere existence was an efficient one. His spartan abode was a concrete block in a seedy part of town. Its only entrance was a garage door. Sure, the door was inefficient; it was old, and it showed. Switching to a newer model could shave 5.3 seconds off of its opening sequence, but the garage was a rental. Considering Juan only opened the door to retrieve packages and dispose of his waste, haggling with his landlord to replace it would far outweigh any time saved. Commuting was entirely unproductive. The only goal it furthers is getting to a
destination, and getting to a destination is only a means to an end. The whole system is full of sleazy middlemen who filch precious time from unwitting victims. Juan was determined not to fall prey to this deadly trap. He worked his job from his standing desk, and much of it was automated. A more affable AI replica of himself took Juan’s place in meetings, eliminating a major source of inefficiency. Conversations tend to go on and on, expending valuable time on meaningless drivel. What goal does exchanging hackneyed pleasantries further? What good does it produce? What purpose does keeping tabs on someone else’s family serve? And those are only the most blatant offenders. Even without the fluff, discussions often devolve into circuitous retreading of already covered material. Freed from the yoke of that inefficiency by his replica, Juan was free to pursue what mattered: accounting. Gifted at crunching numbers, a career in accounting was a natural fit for Juan. While the personable version of himself chatted it up with clients, the erudite Juan analyzed financials. Though the AI was certainly his biggest aid, Juan further augmented his productivity through the use of a treadmill, which allowed him to speed walk as he did his accounting. He opened his financials, powered on the treadmill, and set up his meetings. It was time to produce.
0900 hours.
Juan was completely enthralled by his work. He felt as though he were a conductor operating a well-oiled machine or guiding an orchestra in playing a beautiful symphony. He had found his calling, and the results spoke for themselves. Honed in his craft to the point of perfection, Juan could do the work of ten men. His efficiency had enabled him to start up his own accounting firm. Though small, it generated more than enough capital to suit Juan’s hyper-productive lifestyle. This morning alone, he would hold six meetings simultaneously, working in the background as his replica did the talking. By this point, the artificial intelligence had proven its reliability. Having used it for over a year without issue, Juan was confident enough to let the system run on its own with little in the way of supervision. Sure, he checked on it periodically, but the intervals had grown longer and longer over time. The meeting windows were both minimized and muted on his computer, allowing him to devote his full attention to his accounting. After all, why should he devote his precious time to guarding against a virtually non-existent risk? Multi-tasking comes with its consequences; it takes thought and energy to pursue even the most menial of tasks. Even with an intellect as great as Juan’s, there was only so much brain power to go around.
1001 hours.
And yet that virtually non-existent risk materialized. Juan noticed far too late to do anything about it. One line of stray code had activated his camera, revealing his true work. In one of his random checks, Juan didn’t see a well-kept charmer talking with clients and exuding an aura of sangfroid. Instead, he saw an eerie reflection of himself. The code wasn’t even his fault. It couldn’t have been his fault. Such an error ran contrary to the very essence of his being. It could not be tolerated. He would not have tolerated it. Confirming his suspicions, he looked through his code, picking it apart in search of the offending line. He found it. It was amongst a script for voice commands that he had copied from the internet. The decision was a simple time-saving measure, and it had worked without issue until now. One line of code. One line. That was all it took to ruin his master plan.
Tomas Gonzalez ‘26, Declan Meyer ‘26
Bosque de Chapultepec, Ciudad De Mexico, 2023
photograph and silver gelatin print by Armando D. Solares ‘24
Passing Through
Life’s a relentless journey, a continuous walk, We traverse until it halts, a ceaseless talk. Constant speed, feelings gradually wane, A ferment, akin to pickles of dill, life’s refrain.
We peer through the glass, concave and unclear, Facing the unknown, the essence we revere. Attempts to halt are futile, brakes cut by fate, Newton’s law persists, powerful, yet delicate.
Delicate as the notion it isn’t wholly true, Halting life’s flow is an impossible view. Yet life, in its whims, has moments to choose, It stops us, leaving us with moments to lose.
Pickles sit, growing saltier in their jar, While we, like wrinkled pickles, wear the scar. The fire within starts to dim, lose its spark, The star in our story loses its twinkle, turns stark.
Maintaining style, a journey through life’s haze, A continuous walk, even as the feeling decays.
Matthew Sasso ‘25
Pale Blue Dot
Infinite or transient
Limitless or powerless
Inevitable or was it chance
In a sea of stars
The cosmic dust became us
Out of primordial darkness
Was forged our autonomy, The stringent laws of nature, Parted to grant us form, Am I just some petulant dust
Or does the aura of my consciousness Illuminate the stars?
Will our salutations reach Across the cosmos
To the farthest star, The most distant speck of dust, The most violent collision?
Will they know our gaze?
Can we touch the stars?
Or are we critters on a tiny rock?
Nothing but a pale blue dot.
Jack Musitano
‘26
Luke Brady ‘26
Sam Middlesworth ‘26
Liam Skillings ‘26
Milo Watts ‘26
Bradley Wong ‘26
Desire
The first time I met you Was the first time I died. Gaudy shine, you lied. You told me all was mine. The leaf-bitter aroma
Kills me each time: A perverse mime Of your tantalizing visions Comes once more.
Come, be with me
As a sailor to the sea With stone-heavy ship to moor.
I sit at your banquet In day, in night; What is there but false delight, Cardboard dreams, empty and bright.
Your broken pimp-smile Prostitutes its own sanity, Unfulfilled promises leaving me Insatiable.
I see the burning tongues. They lick at your paper rope. This depraved hope Was never a way
Out. In truth, I’d kill you For a blue sky Looked on by mindless eyes— But you will never die.
Lucas Garcia ‘25
Calli Earley ‘26
Jonas Merchan ‘26
Ayden LeRoy ‘26
Bradley Wong ‘26
Fruits of Paradise
Eden lies ahead.
Beyond paths of blood’s flesh. Little remains here. I yearn to join the rest But I stay still. Grasping for footing, Falling into the Abyss.
Blood pours; while I trudge over skulls, They consume me, ascension’s parasites. Encumbered with regrets, I plow
This deep of burdens
Because withstanding through blood’s tears, I see a light
Suvir Khanna ‘27
Jack Mustiano ‘26
Emiliano Villegas ‘26
The Bop
“A mothers love” in the quiet hum of dawn Her hands ache as She works tirelessly providing, putting food on the table for a family that doesn’t acknowledge Her sacrifice nearly enough
She tells him, ooh love no one's ever gonna hurt you, love I'm gonna give you all of my love nobody matters like you
through the labyrinth of daylight, Her hands persist, creating a better life for my brothers and I coming home to that beautiful radiant smell emanating from the kitchen and when the sun sets on the canvas of our days, Her hands, tired but triumphant, find repose, a lullaby woven in the creases of Her palms
She lays Her head to rest, yet stays awake worrying about Her children
She tells him, ooh love no one's ever gonna hurt you, love I'm gonna give you all of my love nobody matters like you
in the sanctuary of Her touch, I find solace, a sanctuary where love is an endless river, flowing from Her hands, a ceaseless devotion, a devotion that is infinite and loving there's not a person who works harder than a Mothers hands
She tells him, ooh love no one's ever gonna hurt you, love I'm gonna give you all of my love nobody matters like you
Aidan Turrill ‘24
Erwin Mansilla ‘25
“So
Beautiful, So Fragile”
Amongst the dark canvas of space,
Sat a small globe, burning through the days.
Billions of children experience joy and pain,
As well as hope, loss, and decay.
So beautiful, so fragile, they’ll say.
The adults of this planet, filled with optimism and dreams,
Hopes for the future, for you and for me.
Ideas of equality, of love and peace for all,
Are spoken and celebrated so that everyone may recall.
So beautiful, so fragile, they say.
The seniors of the world, filled with sorrow and regret,
Yearn for an end they can’t even express.
Hatred and sadness that no one will forget,
Until we lay to rest with the threat of our death.
So beautiful, so fragile, they said.
Benjamin Ahmad ‘26
Mateo Parra ‘26
Home.
Packing my bags I stop and look, soon I will be but a memory in this house I look back on night terrors and sleeping with my parents in this house,
I am taken back to years past, I see everything that has happened here. The laughter, the anger, the hitting, the breakups, the crying in this house.
The days of pancakes and bacon for breakfast have ran their course. The cereal boxes collect dust as they are ignored, we are too grown up in this house.
Younger me turns off the lights, running up the stairs from a ghost, he jumps into his bed. Soon I will be in a dorm, ghosts will cease to exist, and beds will not shield in that house.
I can feel myself slipping away. Remnants of childhood cling on. A hospital and graveyard, my innocence was birthed and killed in that house.
Wake up on Saturday to see Mom smoking herself to death. Hug her and have Marlboro imprinted on your chest, it smells in this house.
I know I will never be that version of me again, I know they are gone. Yet I know where I can find them, I can always return to this house.
William Baghdaian ‘24
Logan Perez ‘25
Grady Winget ‘26
Nolan Freyer ‘26, Tomas Gonzalez ‘26, Joseph Schimoller ‘26
Diego Beltran ‘25, Gage Hall ‘26, Ryan Repp ‘26
Antonio Catanzariti ‘25, Israel Ramirez ‘26, Tomas Gonzalez ‘26
Let Him Cook
Between the walls where good memories reside, Your grandparents' kitchen, always a good vibe.
The smell of food, a comforting place, Familiar flavors, time can’t erase.
Grandma's recipes, the ones she made with care, Ask her how she did it, she’s eager to share. of ories of him traveling from place to place, Listening to them never gets old in this space.
Each time we went over, we always knew, A snack trip to the kitchen was always due.
In this special spot, standing or sitting Whenever you look, grandma is knitting
Grandmas kitchen, a spot that’s so fine The memories in this palace forever will shine
All the good times and meals prepared The love for the food was always verbally declared
Will Redmon ‘24
Leo Grossman ‘25
Matthew Baker ‘26
Chris Donell ‘26
Spencer Oldoerp ‘26
Anthony Murphy ‘26
Nicholas Sarte ‘26
Wes McMullin
Thomas Duran ‘24
Ghazal: Kitchen of Magic and Dreams
In Grandma’s kitchen, where ingredients dance The use of flavors holds over a timeless trance,
Her apron is adorned with the color of lovely dreams Conjuring magic in many pots different of steams.
The grand aroma of cinnamon, cardamom, and clove, Brings me back to the kitchen, full of the smells I love.
The spices sizzle with an unforgettable saucy beat. But my only concern here is when it is time to eat!
The taste of her food leaves us with no frown, That is why we all gift her the culinary crown.
The flavor-covered hands still hold her flowery embrace. Yet, we wait at the table, sitting perfectly still in place.
As the food is set, I hear “Joseph, you need to eat your greens!” However, in Grandma’s kitchen, love is the primary cuisine.
Joseph Stuart ‘24
Mateo Parra ‘26
Carson Kuritani ‘26
Michael Volmert-Underbrink ‘27
Alejandro Olea ‘26
Ryker Holleman ‘26
Emil Mejia ‘26
Joaquin Lara ‘26
Nathan Valencia ‘26
Refraction, Kenneth Kun ‘25
These Eyes are Not Mine
“Green is such a pretty color” “I wish mine were green”
Green, the color of life: rustling bushes, and trees, and stems, and blades of grass.
Green the color of swamp, a fairytale ogre, the look of nausea on a seasick captain, the feeling of jealousy.
Green
These green eyes make me too fat make me too skinny make me too big make me too small. I don’t like these green eyes. They cause too much fret and distortion of truth, these green eyes do. They mess with the intricate circuitry of me and this bodies functionality. We need to get rid of these green eyes before these green eyes get rid of us.
I will not always hate these green eyes for they will turn hazel from time to time. And when that happens I will be happy again. I will overcome these green eyes.
Oliver Payne ‘24
Adrian Martinez ‘24
Enrique Huerta ‘25
Gregory Berrios ‘26
Zachary Harrison ‘26
Kyler Frial ‘26
Christopher Wong ‘24
From the Loudest Light
Something in the light within Calls to me
like a old friend from a sea of faces
Something in the light within Calls to me
like clear skies in a field leading to summer dusk
Something in the light within Calls to me
like the convergence of cool mornings to soft lit afternoons
Something in the light within Calls to tell me
that pain is a path to promise like freezer burn on your tongue from a frozen strawberry on a summer day
Something in the light within Calls to me and tells me
the end is not loss but a distortion of the beginning and its gain
Something in the light within Calls to me and tells me
that the start has just begun and the end isn't even in sight
George
Clark ‘24
Ayden Blue ‘25
John Kuhl, Fine Arts Faculty
Polina Protsenko, Fine and Performing Arts Department Chair
Listen.
Did you hear it?
Were you listening?
Just now, a drop of rain from a gray and heavy cloud rejoined a grayer and heavier sea.
Listen again.
The final stream of warm blond sunlight just disappeared over the ridge of a mountain that no man has ever peaked.
Put your ear to a rose. Can you hear its pastel beauty escape with the breeze that gently blows through its petals?
Be still, and you will realize that the earth is never quiet.
The symphony of nature echoes.
Lion Paulson ‘25
Kian Fahid ‘26
Marco Estrada ‘24
Finn Corboy ‘24
Cry Me a River.
Water. It flows free Free of restrictions
Yet, in this young boy. There is no Water flow.
His cheeks arid. Devoid of all moisture. For the desert of his face Refuses to give rain.
Never has this boy cried. It is as the gods themselves Have stricken this boy. For never shall he Cry.
Yet, in his room I see him. His eyes flow as rivers do.
How Beautiful. Oh How Beautiful. The rivers, flow free once again.
William
Baghdaian ‘24
Thatcher Hartman ‘27
Tristan Martini ‘25
Jacob Friedman ‘26
John Robertson ‘24
Lennan Ruiz ‘24
Camden Volkman ‘26
Jacob Friedman ‘26
Lucas Garcia ‘25
Mace Barnes ‘25
Dear Speed
As I slam the breaks Tires skirting, Landscape coming back into focus My breath comes quicker You surge through my veins
In those brief moments I’m fearless, confident Everything else fades away Except the thrill in front of us
But now
I’m home
Engine off Radiator fan still running
The trip now finished
Real life resumes Foot to the floor
Hard on the gas
The years sped by The end now in sight
Finale near
I wish I had slowed down Paused through intersections Savored every moment, every class Instead of rushing for them to end Not realizing they wouldn’t last Adulthood ahead
Unclear where the road lead Regret? Finished? Incomplete
I’d go back
Tell myself to appreciate each moment her Wishing I had “plenty of time left” Wishing I noticed each mile marker, And savored each second
The needle sat at zero
Live in the now, speed
Don’t say goodbye.
Marco Melika ‘24
A Spectrum of Ambition, Declan McGough ‘25
Deacon Dymtrow ‘26
Kyler Frial ‘26
Dario Covarrubias ‘26
Aiden Kim ‘24
Adrian Villavicencio ‘26
Isaiah Mauricio ‘26
Bop: She Comes & She Goes after Amit Kalantri
Whose hand is that, I see in front of me
Gleaming in the light of the bedroom
Yet, not even a moment, they had gone Like faint whispers in the night, I can only dream
But it seems like they will not come back to me
The journey once again begins, to look for the hands I see
A mother is your first friend, your best friend, your forever friend.
Through the tapestry of years, her love is still strong
They are always there, working, caring, loving But, a yearning for love, is what alludes me
A bump or a pip won’t let them deter them from thee
Still, the echoes never cease to wander to me
In laughter and tears, through every twist and bend
Her hands are everywhere, but for me, when? And so my hands left distraught, sink back into their den
A mother is your first friend, your best friend, your forever friend.
In the twilight of her time, her love persists
As my hands, quiver, longing for the blessed touch
One of genuine feeling and love
Not of the foul stink left from an old glove
But as those hands creep out, looking to make amends, I will have been sent off, and my time here will end.
Joseph Stuart ‘24
Holden Smyser ‘26
Isaiah Mauricio ‘26
On a Backroad Drive
In Paso Robles, where golden hills unfold
A Mustang roars, its tale to be told. Beneath the azure, open sky
The thrill of cars like a wild reply.
Engines hum with a potent force, As tires grip the winding course. Through vineyards dancing in the sun, The Mustang's journey has just begun.
Leather seats embrace the eager driver, Igniting passion making souls alive. Pedal to the metal the engine's song
A symphony of speed swift and strong.
Curves and bends, like a ballet on wheels, A dance with freedom each twist reveals. The Mustang gallops a creature untamed, In Paso Robles, where dreams are named.
Vibrant landscapes blur in a rush, As horsepower dreams interweave and crush. Wind whispers secrets shared with the road The Mustang's heartbeat, a story bestowed.
Rolling hills echo with the engine's roar, A symphony of power, a captivating score. Through vineyards and valleys the Mustang flies, Elation and freedom in its wild eyes.
Paso Robles, a canvas of delight, Where asphalt meets passion under the sunlight. In a Mustang dreams and roads entwine, A thrilling journey, a moment divine.
Mace Barnes ‘25
Justin Smith ‘24
Cat Skillz, Michael Celenza, Performing Arts Faculty
IAN HONG ‘25
ARMANDO D. SOLARES ‘24
VISUAL ARTS EDITORS
Our creative desires, motivated by the culture in which we grow up in are what make all of us unique. It is so crazy how the people that we spend 6 hours a day with 5 days a week, diverge on such different paths of expression through art. All works chosen to be displayed in WINDOWPANES are dynamic in motion, color, sound, and composition, but all of them have their own distinct style. It is so beautiful how art serves as a universal language for expressing.
WINDOWPANES has three writing editors this year. Despite the breadth of our respective relationships, there were many contributors whose names we couldn’t put faces to. This is not to say that these people are not equally important members of the Loyola community, but that even at a school as tight-knit as Loyola, it is impossible to know everyone. This is the frustration of ONISM— that no matter how much time one spends making the effort to talk to everyone, or to visit every corner of the world, there still exists the loneliness of human consciousness. There is a universe of thought and experiences confined to a single body and perspective. ONISM is the problem that arises from the diversity of every individual life; however, there is a solution. Art allows for an experience that overcomes time, space, and physiology. Art is the purest form of conversation. Each painting, drawing, and photograph is a window into the life of another person, and how they experience the world. Art is the way that we bridge the deep chasm between the isolated self and boundless humanity. Even if you don’t know the specific name or face of the artists featured in this magazine, there is a link through fundamental truth: great art and philosophy seek to find the universal in the individual human experience. Embrace ONISM; in the end, it is what drives humans to create and appreciate art. As you flip through this magazine, we invite you to treat each work not only as a way to get to know the creator, but also as a way to deepen your understanding of self.
to all the contributers and those who submitted works for consideration.
The entire Loyola community, students, alumni, faculty, administrators, and staff, the Windowpanes Moderators: Mr. McClenahen, Mr. Martino and Mrs. Protsenko, the students leaders, our President Fr. Greg Goethals, our Principal Mr. Adams, our Assistant Principal Dr. O’Connell, our Director of Counseling Dr. Jordan, and our director of Student Activities Mr. Walter for helping us make this issue a reality.
