Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.



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Jesuits Ate My Basketball
The north wind blows cold, and the snows fold over like blankets in the closet. Spirals spin in acrimonious dances, prancing madly at unheard music. The tune is soon gone and, as the sun rises, it trips, breaking dawn. Sweeping pieces of the fractured day, this display of frozen water glistens brightly, and dims nightly. The wrong song is sung, again, but rightly. In the East I wonder what magic holds sway, what words they say to welcome strangers into their folded blankets. Time is chemistry and physics, spanning consciousness, but slips away like fishes. Delicious moments linger in memory, gone but not forgotten, the sweetness tastes a little rotten, I'm afraid. Tears do not forestall the thunder that always comes behind the light. I do not fight to see, or hear, or know, but slowly come to understand that which is no more. This floor supports my tired feet, becomes a bed for back and head, and now I must depart. I'm dead, I think, but still I write, this word, and this one will not stop. The cold, again, is coming now; it burns my bones to ash, until no trace remains. Will she see my face in snow drifts, bed sheets, and shoe laces? I long for lingering embraces but arms slip through me, ghostly, and listen to my beating heart. Will this missive find kind eyes to see its meaning, to see its lies, to see its preening self-adulation? Will it speak to a soul that listens? I hope so.
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Book: Reflection on the Important Things