A folk-style tale from the edge of Fumble Creek, where one goose has haunted a man’s steps since boyhood. Told with wit, rhythm, and a touch of dread, this playful narrative unfolds in verses and pub-worthy choruses — weaving a saga of feathers, folklore, and the kind of menace that waddles where it wills. Whether sung with a grin or a shudder, the tale is yours to take flight.

[LYRICS]

"You laugh today, but mark me word
She’ll find you yet, that flappin’ bird."

I hail from down by Fumble Creek,
Where geese don’t honk — they plot and sneak.
Since I was ten, one’s chased me soul,
With eyes that glint and thighs that roll.

She honks like skirts in windy squares,
No feathered beast should draw such stares.

She flaps, she sways, then off she struts
That goose, I swear, will drive me nuts!
She plucks and nips, then off she flew,
I’d half a mind to chase her too.

She honks like skirts in windy squares,
No feathered beast should draw such stares.

Back when I were a wee lad still,
Out where the path bends past the mill
She bit me calf behind the swings,
Then tugged me scarf and flapped her wings.

She honks like skirts in windy squares,
No feathered beast should draw such stares.

She stalks me ’round the bramble gate,
While I were out and running late.
She hissed, she darted, gave a clack,
I dropped me pack and legged the track.

She honks like skirts in windy squares,
No feathered beast should draw such stares.

While I nurse a pint, and me mind’s adrift,
She waddles in loud — all fluff and lift.
She squawks like charm, but truth be this:
I hear nowt more than goose-born hiss.

She flaps, she sways, then off she struts
That goose, I swear, will drive me nuts!
She plucks and nips, then off she flew,
I’d half a mind to chase her too.

She honks like skirts in windy squares,
No feathered beast should draw such stares.

Me aunt’s cat lost near half her fate,
No lane too narrow, no hour too late.
She cornered three behind the crate,
The Vicar cursed and leapt the gate.

That goose? She’s set the hens to cluck,
And had The Vicar shouting “duck!”

I thought I'd rest — a final sleep,
Six feet below, no squawk, no peep.
But just as soil began to drop—
I swear I heard her goose feet plop.

She flaps, she sways, then off she struts—
That goose, I swear, will drive me nuts!
She plucks and nips, then off she flew,
I’d half a mind to chase her too.

So mark me stone, and mind me plot —
’Tis one waddlin’ menace still haunts the lot.

It just might, aye!

Feathered Menace of Fumble Creek

The Widow’s Oath – Aria da Concerto is a tragic scena for mezzo-soprano, baritone, and orchestra. It begins in hushed tones, with the sea rising like a distant memory, before unfolding into a fierce vow against the tide.

The mezzo-soprano carries the widow’s grief and rage, while the baritone voice answers with depth and shadow, amplifying the drama through dialogue. The music moves through recitativo, arioso, and cabaletta forms, storm-driven by strings, harp, low winds, and percussion.

What begins as whispered mourning swells into fiery defiance, and closes on a fading coda — a vow suspended, unresolved, yet unbroken.

This is music of loss, rage, and resilience: the widow’s cry against the storm, now echoed in two voices.

[LYRICS]

’Tis said the sea forgets its dead…
But I recall each thread once bled
He kissed my cheek at break of day
then turned and sailed his soul away
I kept the hearth, I bore the strain…
now wind and wave shall taste my pain.

The dawn was pale; the gulls were keen;
his shadow thinned against the green
I warmed the fire; I held the door
the silence settled to the floor
No ring of rope, no clink of oar
the house remembered… nothing more.

Nothing more… nothing more…

O sea that takes and never weeps,
O tide that drags the deepest deeps—
You took what once was mine; take heed,
I brand your foam with grief and flame.
I salt your depths with tears and brine,
and curse the stars that watched him shine.

Tears and brine… iron vows…

They brought back neither rope nor bone
just tales of foam and voices blown
No grave to tend, no name to stone
thus howling gales shall heed my moan
I wear no black, I hang no shawl
I stoke my rage— I shall not fall
Each wave that breaks upon the shore
shall feel my grief… and hear me roar.

Hear her roar… hear her roar…

Blow, ye winds, blow— you took what’s mine!
I salt your depths with tears and brine!
Though fate may grant what storms allow
I hold fast, no storm can douse!  

Blow, ye winds, blow— return what’s mine!
Let ragged stars record the sign!
No swell shall rise ere I reclaim—
I hold fast, no storm can douse!  

So mark my voice— and mark my name…
I damn the tide; I brand the frame.
Until the deep yields what’s denied,
I stand, and hold, against the tide.
Blow, winds… blow… ye took what’s mine…
The sea is vast—
yet I… remain…

Remain…

A3-S1 The Widow’s Oath – Aria da Concerto (Mezzo-Soprano & Baritone • Operatic • Tragic • Storm)

Ashes in the Shape of You is a grand aria of Act III — Loss and Aftermath in Chains of Sorrow (Neo-Opera). It begins in quiet grief, the baritone voice tracing memory in ash and smoke, answered by a hushed chorus.

Through lyrical arioso and cantabile expansion, remembrance deepens into recognition: love remains in what endures, even as flame and presence fade. The aria rises into a determined cabaletta, where grief is not abandoned but carried forward — transfigured into strength.

This scene embodies intimate remembrance made universal, closing with the refrain: “Ashes… in the shape of you.”

[LYRICS]

The fire is gone… the room stays warm.
The smoke hangs low… the quiet forms.
The walls remember what we knew,
Outlined in ash… the shape of you.

Your touch still lives where embers stayed,
A faint perfume of what we made.
Each breath I draw pulls memory through,
From coals that glow… the heart turns true.

Ashes… in the shape of you.
No flame left… yet the burn feels true.
Every breath pulls the memory through.
From what was left… you’re all I knew.

The clock keeps time in tender air,
Yet hours pale… you are not there.
Each minute casts a deeper hue,
A room of ash… the shape of you.
I trace the marks the fire drew,
They bloom again… as if they knew.
I try to breathe a clearer view,
But smoke returns… and brings you through.

Be still… breathe slow…
Hold fast… let go…

Some flames give up to sudden rain.
Some fade so slow… yet prints remain.
I sweep the floor… the lines break through,
Drawn back to life… the shape of you.

I press my palm where soot is thin,
A shadow hand invites me in.
The room is quiet, dusk is new,
And still it writes… the tale of you.

Ashes… in the shape of you.
No flame left… yet the burn feels true.
Every breath pulls the memory through.
From what was left… you’re all I knew.

If fire must end, then let it teach.
If light must fade, what can I reach?
A softer spark, a kinder view,
A way to live… and carry you.

I lift the latch, I face the night,
I claim the wind, I keep a light.
If ashes call, I will stand new,
I will not drown in only you.
Let morning rise, let windows blue,
Let love be more than smoke and rue.
From ember’s edge a life breaks through,
I choose the path… and carry you.

Ashes… in the shape of you.
No flame left… yet the burn feels true.
Every breath pulls the memory through…
In the ashes… shaped like you.

A3-S2 — Ashes in the Shape of You (Grand Aria • Neo-Opera • Baritone & Chorus • Orchestral)

A sly companion to Sugar & Steam. Retro Soul warmth, Neo-Soul flow, and Contemporary R&B polish orbit one idea: a wink that voids the terms. Clauses, margins, and signatures fold into touch and breath. The bridge opens just enough for light Jazz color, then the hook returns with a grin. Signed in lipstick, sealed in desire. Foreplay. No Parlay.

[Lyrics]

Yeah…

Yeah…
I had a plan.
A speech.
A stance.
Then you… just had to glance.

I showed up sharp, contract in hand, 
Knew every clause, every last demand.
Tie set straight, my shoes all shine,
Heart locked tight, mind on the line.
You leaned in close, put skin in the game,
No foul, no fault, but I still took the blame.

I…
Mmm…
I trained my mouth to tell you no,
But every look said let it go.

It was the wink that broke the deal,
No counters, no terms, no time to appeal.
You got me good, you signed me blind,
Now I’m bound to you, and I don’t mind.
No I don’t mind.
No I don’t mind.

Lines struck clean, pages ribbed for pleasure,
Margins bend beyond all measure.
Stripped to the bone, the clauses bare,
Redlines gone, protections laid there.
Mmm… here you go…
One last stroke, clause torn;
Consider satisfaction duly sworn.

I had spreadsheets, dates, and charts,
You brought lipstick and the Queen of Hearts.
I built a wall, I drew the line,
And you crossed it, looking fine.

It was the wink that broke the deal, 
Turned my logic into how I feel.
I dropped the script, I missed the cue,
And now my closing line is you.

So here’s my heart, no NDA,
You win, now lead the way.
Forget the fine print, let’s just seal 
This kiss, that wink, that final deal.

You win.
Now lead the way.

Signed for good, no terms, no delay.
No back-and-forth, no talk today;
Foreplay. No Parlay. 

You win. Now lead the way.
You win. Now lead the way.

Mmm…

You win. Now lead the way.
You win. Now lead the way.

Mmm…

You win. Now lead the way.
You win. Now lead the way.

Yeah, that’s how we play.

Foreplay. No Parlay. (Neo-Soul • Retro Soul • Contemporary R&B • Jazz-tinged) -mastered

A warm lo-fi soul confessional about quiet comfort and second chances. Close-mic vocals sit just behind the beat, trading fireworks for feeling. Soft, rounded drums, gentle saturation, and a hush of blues color keep the groove unhurried. It plays like a late-night reassurance note, ending with a tender fade on “just out of sight.”

[LYRICS]

Lost and found, funny place
you never know till you do

I’ll be your umbrella
when the sky lets go
I’ll be your glasses
when the world’s a blur.
I’ll be your small lighter
when the power’s out
your calm in the thunder
when you’re full of doubt

They say what’s lost
ain’t always gone
sometimes it waits
to lean on.

I’m your lost and found
when the world spins round
a friend at your side
when you’re feeling down
button for your coat
when it will not close
the flower you pressed
in a book no one knows

That one glove you lost
yes sir, I’m her
I’ll be your map
when you lose your street
that lucky coin
waiting under your seat
I’ll be your charger
when your spark runs weak

I’ve been forgotten
and I’ve worn some dust
still I’m your mirror
when you need to trust

I’m your lost and found
when the world spins round
come find me again
when you’re feeling down

I was yours all along
just out of sight

Just out of sight

Lost and Found (A Soulful Night)

A lo-fi Flamenco confessional about grief, truth, and raw testimony. Close-mic, smoky alto vocals half-sung and half-spoken weave tightly with nylon-string guitar, palmas, and cajón. The performance trades polish for passion — aching pauses, sighs, and sudden cries shaping the flow. Sparse saturation and the hush of a late-night tablao give it torchlike intimacy, ending in a whispered fade, a confession left hanging in the shadows.

[LYRICS]

Lost and found, funny place
you never know till you do

I’ll be your glasses
when the world’s a blur.
I’ll be your small lighter
when the power’s out
your calm in the thunder
when you’re full of doubt

They say what’s lost
ain’t always gone
sometimes it waits
to lean on.

I’m your lost and found
when the world spins round
a friend at your side
when you’re feeling down
button for your coat
when it will not close
the flower you pressed
in a book no one knows

That one glove you lost
yes sir, I’m her
I’ll be your map
when you lose your street
that lucky coin
waiting under your seat
I’ll be your charger
when your spark runs weak

I’ve been forgotten
and I’ve worn some dust
still I’m your mirror
when you need to trust

I’m your lost and found
when the world spins round
come find me again
when you’re feeling down

I was yours all along
just out of sight

Just out of sight

Lost and Found (Midnight in Córdoba)

A lo-fi late-night lounge confessional — smoky vocals and sparse piano drift through an intimate haze. Every note lingers like a whispered aside in the dark, carrying torch-song grief and quiet resilience. Minimal, hushed, and deeply human.

[Lyrics]

Lost and found, funny place
you never know till you do

I’ll be your umbrella
when the sky lets go
I’ll be your glasses
when the world’s a blur.
I’ll be your small lighter
when the power’s out
your calm in the thunder
when you’re full of doubt

They say what’s lost
ain’t always gone
sometimes it waits
to lean on.

I’m your lost and found
when the world spins round
a friend at your side
when you’re feeling down
button for your coat
when it will not close
the flower you pressed
in a book no one knows

That one glove you lost
yes sir, I’m her
I’ll be your map
when you lose your street
that lucky coin
waiting under your seat
I’ll be your charger
when your spark runs weak

I’ve been forgotten
and I’ve worn some dust
still I’m your mirror
when you need to trust

I’m your lost and found
when the world spins round
come find me again
when you’re feeling down

I was yours all along
just out of sight

Just out of sight

Lost and Found (Late Night Lounge)

A lo-fi acoustic confessional, recorded as if in a quiet room after midnight. Smoky female alto vocals sit close to the mic, half-sung and half-spoken with fragile sustains and weighted pauses. Sparse fingerpicked guitar answers softly, leaving space for breath, silence, and raw intimacy. Minimal, unpolished, deeply human — a whispered testimony left hanging in the dark.

[Lyrics]

Lost and found, funny place.
You never know till you do.

I’ll be your umbrella when the sky lets go,
I’ll be your glasses when the world’s a blur.
I’ll be your small lighter when the power’s out,
Your calm in the thunder when you’re full of doubt.

They say what’s lost ain’t always gone,
Sometimes it waits to lean on.

I’m your lost and found when the world spins round,
A friend at your side when you’re feeling down.
Button for your coat when it will not close,
The flower you pressed in a book no one knows.

That one glove you lost, yes sir, I’m her.
I’ll be your map when you lose your street.
That lucky coin waiting under your seat,
I’ll be your charger when your spark runs weak.

I’ve been forgotten and I’ve worn some dust,
Still I’m your mirror when you need to trust.

I’m your lost and found when the world spins round,
Come find me again when you’re feeling down.
I was yours all along, just out of sight.

Just out of sight.

Lost and Found (My Quiet Room)

A lo-fi bluegrass confessional set against a rustic backdrop. Smoky female alto vocals, half-sung with plainspoken intimacy, weave through sparse banjo, mandolin, and acoustic guitar. Upright bass holds a steady, grounded pocket, while breath, pauses, and silence carry as much weight as the notes. Intimate, raw, and unpolished — like a quiet confession carried on the wind through the field.

[Lyrics]

Lost and found, funny place.
You never know till you do.

I’ll be your umbrella when the sky lets go,
I’ll be your glasses when the world’s a blur.
I’ll be your small lighter when the power’s out,
Your calm in the thunder when you’re full of doubt.

They say what’s lost ain’t always gone,
Sometimes it waits to lean on.

I’m your lost and found when the world spins round,
A friend at your side when you’re feeling down.
Button for your coat when it will not close,
The flower you pressed in a book no one knows.

That one glove you lost, yes sir, I’m her.
I’ll be your map when you lose your street.
That lucky coin waiting under your seat,
I’ll be your charger when your spark runs weak.

I’ve been forgotten and I’ve worn some dust,
Still I’m your mirror when you need to trust.

I’m your lost and found when the world spins round,
Come find me again when you’re feeling down.
I was yours all along, just out of sight.

Just out of sight.

Lost and Found (The Bluegrass Field)

A lo-fi gospel-confessional ballad, intimate and raw. A smoky female alto delivers half-sung, reverent phrases, swelling from hush to climax like a midnight prayer. Upright piano and faint organ support, leaving space for breath, silence, and testimony. Each pause aches like a secret shared in the dark - a benediction by night itself.

[Lyrics]

Lost and found.
You never know till you do.

I’ll be your umbrella when the sky lets go,
I’ll be your glasses when the world’s a blur.
I’ll be your small lighter when the power’s out,
Your calm in the thunder when you’re full of doubt.

They say what’s lost ain’t always gone,
Sometimes it waits to lean on.

I’m your lost and found when the world spins round,
A friend at your side when you’re feeling down.
Button for your coat when it will not close,
The flower you pressed in a book no one knows.

That one glove you lost, yes sir, I’m her.
I’ll be your map when you lose your street.
That lucky coin waiting under your seat,
I’ll be your charger when your spark runs weak.

I’ve been forgotten and I’ve worn some dust,
Still I’m your mirror when you need to trust.

I’m your lost and found when the world spins round,
Come find me again when you’re feeling down.
I was yours all along, just out of sight.

Just out of sight.

Lost and Found (Night's Benediction)

A lo-fi hymnlike confessional, tender and restrained. A female alto voice, close-mic’d, half-sung and prayer-like, carries the lyrics with aching intimacy. Upright piano and faint organ provide slow, hymnlike chords, swelling gently behind the vocal. The arrangement remains sparse and reverent, every pause and breath given weight, as if whispered in the stillness of night. A quiet hymn of return, reflection, and clarity.

[Lyrics]

I was lost, and you brought me near,
Safe from swells that pull me clear.

What I longed, you kept for me;
Was standing there as sure can be.

I only had to look once more,
To keep hope and see courage soar.

Your calm has carried me through;
And echoed all I hold as true.

O Tell me now, do you feel me near?
Do you see now that I see?

I have strayed, and you've led me home,
Through nights where the bravest fall.

O true guide and my anchor firm;
My harbor of peace through it all.

I was blind, and you've let me see,
Where the shores meet the sea.

O Tell me now, do you feel me near?
Do you see what I now see?

O I was lost, and now I’m here
I was adrift, but now I’m clear

Once Lost, Now Here (My Quiet Hymn)

I’ve always lived at the crossroads of music and poetry — where feeling becomes form, and melody turns memory into meaning. Whether it’s a lingering jazz note, a well-placed rhyme, or a shift in tempo that tells a deeper story, I’m drawn to that quiet magic where art reflects life with a little more style.

My roots are in classic music — the kind that doesn’t chase the moment but lingers with you long after the last note. Over time, that love expanded into poetry writing and jazz — especially the kind that swings, speaks, and smirks all at once. Jazz, to me, isn’t just a genre; it’s a personality. A conversation. A little tilt of the head and a grin that knows more than it says.

When I set out to create an album, it’s rarely just a collection of songs. I approach it like a personal playlist — one that drifts and flows as if the entire tracklist were one long, uninterrupted piece. Each track leans into the next, shifting mood, pace, or voice, but always carrying the same thread of feeling. I want you to listen the way I do — not as a shuffle of moments, but as a cinematic arc. One breath that lasts an hour.

Lyrically, my work is rooted in lived experience. Sometimes it’s obvious. Other times it’s just the skeleton of a memory, dressed up in wit, irony, or longing. I draw from real-life events, then let the poet in me twist, stretch, or sweeten them to taste. Depending on the tone of the album — playful, romantic, nostalgic, or something in between — I try to keep the emotional truth intact while giving it a fresh coat of creativity. A little humor where it fits. A deeper dive where it hurts.

My newest jazz album continues this tradition — short-lined swing tracks, conversational duets, and tongue-in-cheek storytelling. It’s an homage to late-night alleyway ballads, rooftop serenades, and train station goodbyes — all bound together with a sense of charm and cohesion. Each song is its own little scene, but together they tell a story — one you can revisit with each replay.

Thanks for stopping by my profile. I hope you find something that earns a spot on your repeat-play list — a melody, a lyric, or a moment that feels like it was written just for you.

Feathered Menace of Fumble Creek

Dikheel Aldikheel

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