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Best Poems Written by Toni Orban

Below are the all-time best Toni Orban poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Things We Think

Things We Think

He said, “Every man is busy earning money.” 
She said, “Is there anything more important than love?”
He said, “Is there anything more important than sex?”
She said, “I think we all just fear death.”
He said, “It’s like the Cats in the Cradle we just need more time.”
She said, “I think we really need more space.”

He moved out to a place with more space.
She soon did not have enough money.
She had to leave behind the house and love.
Once they vowed nothing would do them part not even death.
She never learned the aborted child’s sex.
Biologically he still had more time.

He was ambitious, indoctrinated into the ascent of money.
She worked her fingers to the bone, until her death.
He afforded local expensive sex.
She began to view local nature as expansive space.
He did not connect space and time.
She knew what connected it all was love.

In time he found a new love.
In love, she found time.
He equated good passion with good sex.
She found the emerald walls of nature the best space.
He loved the crisp or dirty, rumpled, green of money.
Homeless— she was reprimanded in the rain “You’ll catch your death!”

it's been said,

The root of all evil is money.
Money can’t buy you love.
Nothing is certain but taxes and death.
I don’t know the question, but the answer is sex.
I need my space.
All we have is time.

I’ve learned to give love and learned that is love.
I’ve learned one’s time is worth more than one’s money.
I’ve learned a small space in nature explains all infinite space.
I’ve learned that gender should not be judged by one’s sex.
I’ve learned that empathy slows time.
I’ve learned from the leaves of grass there is no death.

He is more than his money and she is more than her sex.
In death we find love.
In space there exists time.

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Autumn Is Necessary

Missing the luxurious lush green of verdant spring.
When autumn chafes against the soul
Reluctant of letting go all that summer had to offer
We do not proffer from resentment 
Find, we may contentment with the season immediately upon the boughs,
The leaves all fallen and secretly feeding unseen mysteries in the soil 
Tender shoots then rise from the breast of young men past
The good never lasts…
Renewal’s corollary: destruction is perpetual
And grass is proof there is no death
In the greatest pain of our memories, all comparative,
Seeds the future from counter-fit narratives
And while truth may die in the breasts of men…
Yet the grass is proof there is no death.

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Contemplations of An Existentialist

Life secretly offering fleeting moments of happiness… but the underlying sadness creeps through; the grief of human condition always seeps through from the unconscious. I always imagined it as the watery liquid separating from the unctuous and the solid matter of the brain as a pervading force that relentlessly pursued my happiness.
I am reminded often that this life offers no protracted security of contentment only taunting bits of joy.
Is that what we must satisfy ourselves with then? We are to be grateful solely for the passing seconds of joy.
In this life we are offered only an empire of dirt and the subconscious encumbered with the knowledge that we are merely destined become part of that empire.

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Embrace the Chaos

Not conscious of infinities blast Big Bang into reality our matter hurled 
The Moira in our ancient past held us captive in this world

The blessings are the curses in every man’s situation
A profound secret and mystery to one another—the human condition
The secret suffering souls demand such solemn serious speculation
Yet the absurdity of LIFE in all its levity and evanescence calls for circumspection…

We create the stories and gods in hopes 
And we assign such meaning to everything: stars, numbers, tea-leaves, and dates…
We create stories and gods to fill the voids find star- crossed loves and faith in the fates 
In all the randomness—the beautiful randomness 
We live, we love, we kiss, and we miss the beauty of chance

Kierkegaard a product of his time
his philosophical bent in line 
had yet to be—to see—the reality—
       of Camu or Sartre in thoughts evolution
one solution to counter mother Nature’s hostility or indifference, 
We wield power over her mock her, scorn her, show her! 
I am not the powerless weak little creature born to die at your whim—
No sin to go—my existence I control. 

But halt! Oh! our Jungian collective-consciousness in the present soon awakens swooned by modern bards, agnostics and atheists even religious faith shaken
A light! A light! A revelation!

Because that which is unseen we know to exist
The unknown exists and because we don’t know it's purpose.. perhaps there is perhaps there is not one, 
The horizon we see with our eyes does not exist in reality Physics concrete Science save us…
Our eyes set to betray us… 
All this unknown doesn't mean we can't embrace the chaos 

And we assign such meaning to everything: stars, numbers, tea-leaves, and dates…
Yet it all does exist with a beauty more lovely than any of Shakespeare's fates...

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Empty Space

Void
Deep Black
Rushing Stretching through,
Lost Space and Time
Nothingness.

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Man Eater

There was young “lady" of Chester
Who not only dated a jester
But also and baker n' smith
whom she all liked to kiss 
she's known as the great man-molester

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Freeways

The whir 
and the echo
lasting flow of autos
a luring, lulling safety
that’s false.

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Really- Where the Side Walk Ends

Roots Bulge
Up and Reclaim
Unnatural Sidewalks
That Hinder Soil Respiration,
Always.

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Equanimity

When equanimity falls to the wayside
And the eyes empirically survey the hillside,
It’s Einstein’s time that I can’t bide,
Mawkish mental masturbation adroitly I chide,
Thy self,
Then my discreet self in its inchoate knowledge of reality,
Like the mass of humanity
Dissembling about Nature,
And Nature in turn disassembles matter, that we build up and think
Matters,

Your death is no grand spectacle even if it seems to be,
wrought cosmologies wield fantastical narratives of eternity,

Even when my hero Nietzsche in his tautology: Amor Fati unfolds itself like origami into eternal recurrence 
Don’t get any ideas about permanence.
Take an uncompromising acceptance of reality, isn’t that just akin to Buddhist philosophy?
As discreet markings form abstract symbols of meaning in letters that form alphabets, that form words, that form sentences, that form phrases that compose ideology to compel us and histories, that inform us of existence, don’t get too cozy with them as they have a way of presenting like the Horizon,
The horizon, you know is just an illusion.

I do not subscribe to Pascal’s wager, Dawkins showed me the light,
I do not matter much, but no matter, as surely as I exist nothing is more precious.
All religious cosmologies aside, miraculous evocative entertainments beguiling distractions,
"Cogito ergo sum" Descartes comforting statement.
You bring the inside out,
this doubting mind can be certain of existence, by our certain doubt.

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Absurd Little People

There once was a man named Camu
said suicide's the thing you should do..
your brief life’s got no meaning
Sartre: "That's what it's seeming"
The universe- as I-- don’t care a whit for you!