Nick Templeton

Nick Templeton grew up in Spokane, WA, surrounded by family who taught him how to find music for every part of life. He is graduating from PLU with majors in English and Hispanic Studies, as well as a minor in Printing and Publishing Arts. When Nick is not reading on a park bench or writing somewhere near a window, you might find him in the woods, accompanying the song of a chickadee on guitar or violin.


There are days when the music is in everything, each breath a perfect chord.
There are days when, lost in the chaos of possibility, pattern blends to dissonance. 

Ernie Ate Dynamite. Good Bye, Ernie — a little heuristic my father 
taught me. A farewell cleft by passing tones. The first of many patterns. 

I will pluck until my fingertips grate away, a fine sand stuck to the body,
until nothing is left of us but the dust we were patterned after. 

Song in standard, song in an open tuning, songs woven from strings
in each cross-stitch of the fingers’ picking, patterned things. 

Spot the difference between ornithology and chord-naming — Yellow-throated 
Laughing Thrush. B7 Diminished Fifth. See, now, how ornately this bird is patterned?

Hollow body, hand-crafted. Indian Rosewood fingerboard. Neck of lacquered spruce. 
The grooves left by fingernails on the cedar-patterned face.  

Guitar he gave her as a gift. Canadian craftsmanship. Same as the lumber
they foraged for the house, logs criss-crossed at the corners. Same wood she chose
     for the burial. Cedar coffin. C-Sharp Minor. Intersecting pattern of it all.