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Best Poems Written by Rory Hannan

Below are the all-time best Rory Hannan poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Man From Switzerland

There was a man from Switzerland
Who Lived a life of glitz and glam
He never thought
That he'd get caught
Covering all his bits in jam

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No One Is As Good As Me

Im fluent in a language
One that no one else can speak
I can draw the perfect picture
But you're not allowed to see

I can run the fastest mile
I can walk across the sea
I designed the Eiffel Tower
With my Masters PHD

I am the greatest actor
I'm the voice of your tv
Ive performed in every theatre
Even neurosurgery

You can listen to Beethoven
Or any other piano piece
But I'm afraid you're wasting your time
Because no one is as good as me

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Standing There Like a Lemon

There is a sour sound of lemons screaming
In a Venetian glass bowl on the sill 
Each citric fruit sees the sweet thief stealing
But all stand perfectly still

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Music Festival

Music Festival

Boys in glitter and gold quote the doors
With dreadlocks they beatbox drum and base
A girl balances my friend with her legs
He lies planked above her face

Flags ripple with colour
Cheers wave through the crowd
The clearest pitch of an angel
Embodies my soul with sound

I'm inhibited won't you accompany me
Sunlight replaced by lasers and neon Crucifixes
I lust for a disturbing insatiability
I've become transfixed

Paramedics attend to paralytics
While I unwind I feel
The sleepy sexy wind on my face
And I drift off

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There Is a Lion Sleeping In My Shed

There is a lion sleeping in my shed
I dread to think what it's dreaming of
I hope it's not me but my friend Ed
There is more of him to be chewed on

See there aren't many Zebras round these parts
That graze in my garden or near by parks
Next door have a chiwawa that never shuts up
A tasty snack when he wakes up

But for now I'll just let him sleep

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Cindy

Cindy was really a man
You could tell by the size of her hands
So one day in Bournemouth
She had them both sawn off
But now she can't shave her beard

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My Musket

Some say I’m rather rustic
To carry round a musket
I Fire it at Blue Tits
Police ask me for a permit

My paper work's legit
But they still say I’m unfit
I say that’s complete bulls**t
They throw me on the pavement

So I pretend to throw a fit
And twist a little bit
I escape and run for it
And make it with my musket

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When It All Kicked Off

On cobbled streets the brawl began
Down Brick Lane in London Town
The back drop of the curry shops
Set the stage for fisty cuffs
The night began as most would plan
A bunch of lads some with wags
Enjoying beers and laddish chants
Heading to a place where we could dance
This normal night fell down hill
When a mate of mine became quite ill
Normally of normal mind 
The drunk fool thought he'd be unkind
And rack his heavily buttoned coat over
The bonnet of a passing Sport Range Rover
The 4 by 4 slammed on the breaks
And my friend realised his mistake
Inside this car were 5 hard bastards
And unfortunately none of them were plastered
And if for the driver the plot was not yet lost
When my other mate held his door shut, 
It definitely was
At this point all chaos consumed
This tiny street for spicy food.

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So It's a Date?

Yes no you said to me
As you sipped on your tea
This coffee town outlet expresses no poetry
As you realize that the bag is still in

My scrambled eggs metaphorically describe my vocabulary
I stutter like learner in first gear
Your green eyes make me melt like like like
Some sort of soluble

No? Well then I will not be seen as a coward
A coward, a queer, a conquest, a conundrum
This is my heart and I’ve put it on the line
I’ve pegged it up and you’ve left it to dry

Yes? The door swings and flashes the sun across my face
I’ve seen the light. We meet tomorrow night
The hard parts over. Or is it?
What’s my next question?

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Night Time In the Sussex Downs

My thoughts are caught on a cattle grid
Tractor tyres rumble over my ideas

The farmer's wife's bosom holds all the secrets
To an emporium of scent and voluptuous spheres

The bell rings for dinner and the daylight dimmers
The cows are a lowing and the z's climb for the clouds

It's night time in the Sussex Downs