Click here for the spoken word version.
I have also made a transcript as you can see below:
On one strange night a magic spell came to be
Where words tended to whisper
Some kind of tricky philosophy.
It twas when curses quiver
And the old anger shiver
When the words didn’t quite deliver
Their intended esprit, you see.
For when dear Jenny and Joel sat down,
And the sun began to frown
(Er, that’s a way to say it set, if you hadn’t guessed yet)
The spell began thusly.
“Call of duty? You are joking right? That game is dull, it’s all just fight.” Jenny huffed tugging the blanket across her shoulder, seeing Joel’s smoulder, as his eyes lazed upon the rest of the games.
“Well, I like the game, but if you’ll complain, make a better suggestion, something sane.” Joel grumbled while thumbled his cookie that crumbled, how jumbled his thoughts came to be. “Hold on-”
“This is odd. I sound like dod!”
Jenny raised her eyebrows high, the night now nigh, (that means it’s very dark outside!) and thought her friend too tired to play.
“What is that Dod you say? I’ve never heard of a name like that in a day!”
Joel frowned and stood up. He looked around. He sat back down. “Dod, my friend, my eager poet, had a voice like you’d know it, if you were far away. He tended to rhyme, ALL THE TIME, and did my head in, like others in crime.”
Jenny slowly nodded, trying to let Joel’s words sink in. Since when was he a poet, though his rhymes were thin, Joel hadn’t cared for the rhythm within.
“Joel you’re being very weird.” Jenny feared. “It’s almost as if you’ll grow a beard!”
“DON’T MENTION MY LACK OF FUR, IT’S SOMETHING THAT MAKES ME VERY MURRR.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.” Jenny cried. “You’re making me very tense!”
“For bouncy squirrels and acidic slime, I can’t help but do nothing but rhymne!” Joel raised his hands in the air, it was tragic time, a literacy affair. For he was known for his foul mouth and tough declare such as ‘You funny mumma.” Hmm, seems even the spell works on the narrator, I hope there’s no side effects later.
“I don’t like this at all, why on earth is life so cruel.” Joel’s anger started to grow. He wanted nothing more but to cause a KO.
“I realise now. I think I see. You’re starting to rhyme. A bit… Like me!” Jenny exclaimed, and fast proclaimed the title for her slowest gain of the situation. A fixation. Dilation. Of true plot manifestation. For all they were doing was procrastination, annihilation of a giant mis-celebration of a poet’s translation of some kind of story that was nothing more but a vocation to provide sensation. (GOLD PLEASE)
“What shall we do?” Jenny wondered. “Shall we still play or-“
“FOO.” Joel growled.
“Did you try to swear again?” Jenny tried not to grin.
“Let’s just play games and say whatever. Maybe this curse will be bored forever.” Joel suggested, vested. He wasn’t going to let the spell win. “How about Tekken?” He threw in. He paused. “Tekken…. Tekken… Tekken… Tekken.”
“Chicken.” Jenny said and gasped. “Oh, I wasn’t calling you a chicken, that was… This… Weird… Thing that is happening to us. Something I can’t quite suss.”
“Just thinking if there are words we say, that would make this spell go away. Like words that don’t really rhyme, or at least not in today’s time.”
Jenny put the Tekken disk into the machine. She was now keen, and maybe quite green to remove the spell on. They played for sometime, each thinking of a non-rhyme, something to break the hell. (Although quite admittedly, Jenny is quite amused by the whole thing, the fun it would continue to bring silently makes her chuckle.)
Just before Jenny won the next game, Joel pressed start and paused the frame. With a burst of thunder he roared a chord that cried “ORANGES!”
“Oranges...? Ah! Oranges! Orange!”
“Oranges, orange-oranges. Oranges!”
“Orangey Oranges. Oranges.”
And that is how the rest of the night went.
When they woke up the next day, the spell was spent.
Perhaps pure nonsense was the true intent,
And silliness was all it meant.
Through oranges Joel felt happy to breathe,
For Dod’s memory and poetry he could leave.
But back in his mind, a single sentence lay low,
For it if it was spoken, it’d be quite the blow.
As Sporanges grow Orange in Blorenge.
I leave you my adieu.