Herb Dee

@herbdee.bsky.social

232 Followers 127 Following

Musician - Author - Poet - Playwright - Artist - Irrelevant flashliterature.com/?gigs=1

Herb Dee, The Cobblestone, October 30th, 2026: Tickets Eventbrite
A jibe that shows Simon Harris for the cunt that he is
The Top Ten I don’t care whether You are a producer or a presenter You earn nearly four times The average wage
Herb Dee gig, tomorrow, Sunday 19th april, 2 till 4 in the afternoon in the woodstack cafe in Monasterevin
St Patrick’s Paradox St Patrick was Welsh And shepherded sheep So why is it shamrock And not a leek? He got rid of snakes Through the power of prayer I wonder could he pray About golf clubs in Clare He seems to have dressed In bishop’s robes Fifteen hundred years Before Ireland rose But now diddly eye And fiddly diddly dee And a bowl of shamrock To a guy who smells of pee
Reflection To a poet Each poem they write Is a masterpiece To a politician Each speech they write Is a cover up of inadequacy
Being Honest No amount of protest poetry Is going to change any of this Tá brón orm
I Wandered Lonely as a Poem I wandered lonely as a poem That floats on high o'er page and notes, When all at once I saw a gnome, A host, from golden John-o-Groats; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing, and doing pees. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the dewey grass, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of the gnome’s ass: Ten thousand gnomes saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought To see what an army of gnomes had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with fear does drop, A multitude of gnomes, plop, plop. Plop, plop.
A link to the song "A Simple Hello" on Amazon
Rock Bottom I’m not a gambling man But I’ll bet a thousand euros James Browne The Minister for Housing Has never slept rough on the streets of Dublin I wonder what odds Paddy Power are giving
I’m Reading I’m reading T.S. Eliot He is a frightful bore Can someone please explain Why he’s down in folklore I’m committed to finishing now His play, the Cocktail Party How up their arses, they really are The critics who feel they’re arty He doesn’t make me think Not like the great Ingoldsby As all the arty farty Regale the green-ness of a tree I posted many many poems On this, the internet And it has inspired absolutely no-one To do anything but forget Yet Mr T. S. Eliot Is celebrated, very far and wide Giving poetry a bad name If poetry be your guide
Aches And Pains Aches and pains Have me in tears They play on my mind And all of my fears Another birthday Is around the corner The daily stresses Give me feeble disorder I fear dying I don’t know if that’s normal The slightest twinge Suggests something formal I need to relax In a world where you’re not allowed to Aches and pains Kill the rose tinted view
Tis Cold Tis cold Not the shivering kind The stealth kind Where you could be sitting at your table For a seven hour shift And at about the half way point Your whole body Bones and all Won’t be saved by repeating cups of tea
I Think (Part 1) I think Donald Trump Needs a smacked bottom With a wooden spoon Of course, after you wash all the shit off first I Think (Part 2) I think Elon Musk Should be given The usual jail sentence that Ketamine addicts are given In the good old free USA I Think (Part 3) I think Benjamin Netanyahu Will never be rich enough To buy his soul back off Satan After all Satan is a Hebrew construct
Elephants reflecting swans