Intelligence is a fruit picked in the nieghbour's garden.
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Too Raw To Eat
Picked over like a piece of meat
Nibbled and a little bit uneasy
Difficult it is to please
Somebody who prefers
The taste of cake
Without the cheese
Picked over like forbidden fruit
From a garden stomped over with people
I want to be the one who leaves
A deliciousness to tease
But I've been regarded
Too raw to eat.
Picked over like a piece of meat
Nibbled and a little bit uneasy
Difficult it is to please
Somebody who prefers
The taste of cake
Without the cheese
Picked over like forbidden fruit
From a garden stomped over with people
I want to be the one who leaves
A deliciousness to tease
But I've been regarded
Too raw to eat
Picked over like a piece of meat
But I've been regarded
Too raw to eat
Picked over like a piece of meat
But I've been regarded
Too raw to eat
Picked over like a piece of meat
But I have been regarded
Too raw to eat
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fruits Of Waste
food waste
one country
say old Italy
800 million tonnes
of fruit picked sold
from fruit trees
750 million tones
left to rot
never picked
every year
why
not increase
efficiency?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Our Marriage Is Our Garden
Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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The Nit Picker
A garden full of tender care
brings joy beyond and above
NOT UNLIKE A CHILD
When given unconditional love
For like a garden that’s picked and picked
a child will not grow
for so much picking just destroys the roots
and no more blossoms will show
From the depth of the earth the weeds appear
their ugly forms take over
the child that’s hurt shows anger abound
and the offender should run for cover
So slow down now and think about
the damage that you have done
AS A PARENT OF SUCH A
WONDERFUL CHILD
who’s life has just begun
Don’t turn her into a garden of weeds
its time, from where I'm sitting
turn it around with love abound
and stop that cruel nit picking
poem by Janice M Pickett
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Forbidden Fruit
Sometimes fruit
is forbidden
one must
look
away.
Like Eve in the
garden
forbidden
fruit
on
display.
Little did she
know
the price
she
would pay.
Forbidden fruit
forever
sometimes
dreams
go
astray.
poem by Heather Burns
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The Committee's review of a series of intelligence shortcomings, to include intelligence prior to 9/11 and the pre-war intelligence on Iraq, clearly reveal how vital a diverse intelligence workforce is to our national security.
quote by Jane Harman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forbidden Fruit
He offered her forbidden fruit
and had she turned away
she never would have tasted it.
But much to her dismay
it was much too tempting.
She could not leave it alone.
She grasped at it greedily
and now she must atone.
And so the Garden of Eden
flashes before her mind.
Sorrow fills the air she breathes
and the fruit on which she dined
has left a bitter taste in her.
But in her heart she knows
that all the sweetness of the fruit
taught the lesson from which she grows.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Some Thoughts While Reading Rumi
Go walk into your garden & pick the tiny
Red fruit of the very old sun
It is just one plant & quite small
But go walk into your garden & pick the tiny
Red fruit of the sun
Go walk into your garden & feast on life
Because life is a feast
Go walk into your garden & pick the little
Red fruit of the very old sun
It is just one plant & very small
But go walk into your garden & pick the tiny
Red fruit & feast on life
Because life is a feast
Go walk into your garden
No matter how small
It is still a garden.
poem by M.L. Squier
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Eve, Oh Eve
Why wouldn't Eve have eaten of the fruit?
Didn't she have a hand to reach out with,
Fingers with which to make a fist?
Didn't Eve have a stomach for feeling hunger,
A tongue for feeling thirst,
A heart with which to love?
Well, then, why wouldn't Eve have eaten of the fruit?
Why would she merely have suppressed her wishes,
Regulated her steps,
Subdued her thirst?
Why would she have been so compelled
To keep Adam moving around in the Garden of Eden all their lives?
Because Eve did eat of the fruit,
There is sky and earth.
Because she has eaten,
There are moon, sun, rivers, seas,
Because she has eaten, trees, plans and vines.
because Eve has eaten of the fruit
there is joy, because she has eaten there is joy.
joy, joy-
Eating of the fruit, Eve made a heaven of the earth.
Eve, if you get hold of the fruit
don't ever refrain from eating.
poem by Taslima Nasrin
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Blackberry Picking
I have fond memories of going blackberrying
On Sundays, with my Dad, when I was a child.
Situated on the very outskirts of our little town,
The lane was long and winding, lonely and wild.
We worked our way along the prickly hedgerows,
Plucking perfect fruit from amongst the brambles,
But the berries, which were over ripe or under ripe,
Were left behind by us, during our country rambles.
We picked plenty of plump, juicy berries,
And popped them all in to our plastic pot.
Dad seemed to know the very best time to go,
So we always returned home with quite a lot.
Along the way, we spotted spiders in their webs;
Of spiders, I have always been a little scared.
So any fruit which was located round about,
Was more than welcome to stay right there!
The blackberries were taken home to Mum,
Who mixed them up with apples, inside a pie.
I always felt a small sense of pride, as we ate
Those blackberries, picked by my Dad and I.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Garden of Choice
Two in the Garden of Eden
who had everything to lose
the bounty of all creation
save one fruit forbidden to choose
Their fates, and our fate as well,
were resting in their own hand
in what splendor would we dwell
had they honored that sole command
Two in the Garden of Eden
each charged with that sacred choice
Either one could have chosen
to disregard the serpent's voice
Yet one, then the other, failed
abdicating Eden for one bite
their naked wickedness unveiled
lost forever Garden's delight
Two in the Garden of Eden
did they think but once or twice
before initiating rejection
of God's bounty beyond price
Two in the Garden of Eden
which one should bear the blame
for being the greater heathen
which one would we dare name
Two in the Garden of Eden
but either one of the two
might have differently chosen
passing blessings as their due
Two of us in that Garden
with same choice to make today
would we not likewise give in
as well throwing all away
Though we do not live in Eden
we inherited much the remain
Do we cherish our earthly garden
or pollute every inch of terrain
We too may opt for an Eden
in our hands we hold Earth's fate
Will we empower serpents again
or tend our garden before too late?
poem by Mary Havran
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Heavenly Abode
Heavenly abode, I call on you to flirt with me,
Realise my dream, inwardly and outwardly
In the stroke of genius and the intelligence it provides.
Heavens are only being houses of pearls
Meant for the rivers of milk, the honey is everywhere
If you travel far enough and downward
In the aching avenues of grass and no weeds.
There is a garden there of blessings,
Weeds are conquered by flowers of appeal.
The fruit I call upon mutters into my mouth,
This will explode and render me indefensible.
The sheer glory is about of a wonderful time
In the succulent corner of all-existence.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Constancy Of A Noble Purpose
how must i tell you again
it is not the intelligence but the
constancy of purpose
at first and then
you either do not listen when you
heard me clear or
you simply cannot accept it and
change
you believe always on intelligence
and so i watch you risk everything upon it
trying to explain every grain of sand
and there too many of them
and they invade your intelligence and
they bury it
then
finally killing you
suffocating you because the sands in their
constancy of purpose
never believe what intelligence
preaches and
bragged.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Adam & Eve
The lord named Adam and Eve,
to live a happy life.
In the garden of Eden,
but they disobeyed.
I wanna know,
why they sin,
in the garden of Eden.
It's a devilman's affair,
in the shake of a surfband.
And they broke the fruit of life
and everyone of us is living in sin.
Any anywhere you go,
woman is the root of all evil.
He was the first one to break a fruit
and everyone of us is living in sin.
The lord named Adam and Eve,
to live a happy life.
In the garden of Eden,
but they disobeyed.
I wanna know,
why they sin,
in the garden of Eden.
It's a devilman's affair,
in the shake of a surfband.
And they broke the fruit of life
and everyone of us is living in sin.
Any anywhere you go,
woman is the root of all evil.
He was the first one to break a fruit
and everyone of us is living in sin.
song performed by by Bob Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The role of intelligence
Intelligence is to adapt and adopt.
Honesty, integrity and propriety
Are shown door by intelligence.
By intelligence the society is not made rich.
13.07.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Human intelligence is a reflection of the intelligence that produces everything. In knowing, we are simply extending the intelligence that comes to and constitutes us. We mimic the mind of God, so to speak. Or better, we continue and extend it.
quote by Huston Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The resistance of policy-makers to intelligence is not just founded on an ideological presupposition. They distrust intelligence sources and intelligence officials because they don't understand what the real problems are.
quote by Aldrich Ames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An udara fruit that falls by the roadside must want to be picked up and eaten.
Quicker Than Picked Bananas
Aging!
And showing it quicker than picked bananas,
Are those hanging onto their youthful hopes...
With an inability to disperse from an immaturity.
Clinging onto hopes a cuteness shown can be excused...
Isn't as sick as it looks,
By those exposed to it.
And for those choosing to dismiss this as an acceptance...
Can not one of them explain the presence of an ineptness.
With few people left having a capability to express intelligence.
Or can catch up to adulthood to reasonably be respected.
Since a maturity is nonexistent.
And what is left to spoil and rot quicker than picked bananas,
Is what many people possess and is seen quite a lot.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Happy Ending In The Garden
... AND then as it was told
the princess meets her prince in the
Secret Garden
they sow the seeds of love
respect time
soon the flowers begin to bloom
soon the trees bear the fruit
in the garden of love
so private.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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