Whispers of Lost Love Song
You, the agile conductor—swayed my heart, To the symphony of music, I danced my part.
Welcome to PLAYLIST ONLINE
To keep the good vibes going - this year, alongside our print journal, is our UNSWeetened online edition. Featuring prose, poetry and essays this is a jam-packed playlist filled with the creative works of UNSW students.
POETRY
Make Me a Playlist
Songs that flow like the breeze of spring Unaware, unknowing to the meaning it’s about to bring.
music has given back to me everything that writing stole
for all the words that writing has dragged screaming from my head, music has poured them back in through my ears;
CPR- close caption of a Person's Routine
[Alarm ringing] Roll over Eyes close, arms flail Snooze.
Romance isn't Dead, She's just a Shape-shifter
She was passionate grace — Her prime two-hundred years agone,
Syrian Streets
Like wings inside a cocoon, I watched as the dancing flowers Started to bloom.
Red river
There dripped, slow or all at once- A red river from Apple’s nose.
No Notes/ Breathing with you around
My favourite song is your body shaped like a word
this collection
the needle pierces the vinyl’s vibrations , the tattoo gun humming a similar vibrato
The Songs You Gave Me
The gramophone begins to spin, And a tinny rendition of something classical
Bridge
From the rhythmic dance of a second hand, I found solace, entrusting my hopes to a bridge that spans not just rivers,
My Summer Playlist
have you heard it yet? the start sounds something like christmas in locked rooms
Moving In
I wish to have domesticity flood through the windows of my heart - much like the sunlight does in your bedroom,
PROSE
Burnt unripe oranges
I found jazz on a morning drive to the office when the sun shone so brightly and dewdrops were still glistening on the grass blades.
River Flows in You
The person sitting in front of me has the same face, but different eyes.
A Man's Garden Is His Castle
On a sunny Sunday, in the languid hours of the afternoon, I cut my neighbour’s head from his shoulders.
Reasons of the Robot Lover
have never been a fan of DJ’s, even less so a fan of the amateur artist atop the dingy stage over at Milo’s Club/Bar/Hotel/Probable Brothel...
Black is the Colour of My True Love's Hair
“Stay here, I’ll try to call Mum.” The child watched the man pull out his phone and amble off across the near-empty car park.
Electric Touch
I remembered thinking for what must have been the thousandth and final time that I was finally over it.
Through the Eras and Ages
It's 2006, and I am 4 years old. To your average 4-year-old, the world seems to be doing okay.
ESSAY
Prelude to Literature
Act 1 - The Call, then the Response "All the world's a stage," set in a bustling literary metropolis. Writers peruse a stack of plays, fantastical scenes swirling in their minds. The characters on those pages beckon.
