Chris Tyrimos

Chris Tyrimos Poems

1. Deo Favente (The Life And Trials Of Foxman - 3) 7/30/2012
2. Department Store Delusions 7/30/2012
3. Desire 7/30/2012
4. Dinosaurs In The Bath 7/30/2012
5. Foxman (The Life And Trials Of Foxman - 1) 7/30/2012
6. Last Night In Tangiers 7/30/2012
7. Meet Me At The Diner 7/30/2012
8. Networks 7/30/2012
9. Pretium Victoriae 7/30/2012
10. Diversions 7/30/2012
11. Knickerbocker Glory 10/16/2012
12. The Back Seat 12/13/2012
13. Space 4/2/2013
14. Supermoon 6/25/2013
15. Desperado 7/8/2013
16. Desperado (Part Two) 7/17/2013
17. Desperado (Part Three) 7/22/2013
18. Snowmen 9/21/2013
19. Sich Hüten 3/2/2014
20. Nostalgia And Wet Playtimes. 3/23/2014
21. Nature 4/28/2014
22. Observations Of A Ghost 8/5/2014
23. Foxman Revisited (The Life And Trials Of Foxman - 2) 7/16/2015
24. Foxman's Observations (The Life And Trials Of Foxman - 4) 11/6/2015
25. Mercury In Sagittarius 11/29/2015
26. Symbolic Nonsense Two 12/13/2015
27. Frog Returns (Childrens) 12/18/2015
28. Tea 12/30/2015
29. February 2/4/2014
30. The Sixpenny Maid 5/31/2018
31. Mr Frog [ Childrens ] 7/30/2012
32. Radio Times 7/30/2012
33. Marrakech: Or The Tale Of The Monkey In The Jemaa El Fna 10/28/2013
34. Symbolic Nonsense I 2/24/2014
35. Sliding Doors (Prose In Stanzas) 5/21/2018

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Best Poem of Chris Tyrimos

Marrakech: Or The Tale Of The Monkey In The Jemaa El Fna

The futility of an ego cased in a personality, in flesh.
Ideas came to me in a juvenile milky coffee.
Semi copper coloured bricks in a cheap attention seeking hostel.
Lemonades and liars, frauds and friars, princes and peoples.

Men in the cancerous Indian summer of their lives.
Paying for lust, a well oiled transaction.
My soul spirit affected by the noise, bright lights, a voyeurism.
As viewer, more foreign hypocrite, 'Noel Simsolo' moral administrator.

A bizarre re-affirmation of local suffering, somehow,
confirmed in replica watches and matching tungsten ...

Read the full of Marrakech: Or The Tale Of The Monkey In The Jemaa El Fna

Last Night In Tangiers

Giants in Hell, was the exact look on that beggars face.
I walked and walked, back and forth passed back alleys, bars and ruins of Coptic churches. People at the bars were dancing to fill a void, a perfect way to hide, in their voodoo dance trance
Frame by frame, incorruptible Saturday night dancer.

Twelve years ago today, my car crash, blood everywhere.
The car crash that defined me, a near life experience, perfect balance of adrenaline, middle class ideas, baptism of fire, invincible tha

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