Home » Poems » Poetry Art » Poetry Art / Greeting Card Maker

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.

Text
Layout
Background

Enter Title (Not Required)

Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required
The Moon as a Metaphor for Your Mouth by Michael R. Burch When I was closest to love, it did not seem real at all, but a thing of such tenuous sweetness it might dissolve in my mouth like a lozenge of sugar. When I held you in my arms, I did not feel our lack of completeness, knowing how easy it was for us to cling to each other. And there were nights when the clouds sped across the moon’s face, exposing such rarified brightness we did not witness so much as embrace love’s human appearance. Keywords/Tags: Moon, metaphor, love, sweet, sweets, sweetness, sweet love, kiss, sugar, honey, melt, melting, dissolve, dissolving, candy, lozenge, tarts, confection, tablet, pill, cough drop, capsule, confit, bonbon, honey, sweetie, chocolate, symbolic, symbolism, romantic love I-Candy: Inconstant Temptress by Michael R. Burch Love, beautiful but fatal to many bewildered hearts, commands us to be faithful, then tempts us with sweets and tarts. (If I were younger, I would mention you are such a temptation.) The Love Song of Shu-Sin Earth’s Oldest Love Song (circa 2,000 BC) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Darling of my heart, my belovéd, your enticements are sweet, far sweeter than honey. Darling of my heart, my belovéd, your enticements are sweet, far sweeter than honey. You have captivated me; I stand trembling before you. Darling, lead me swiftly into the bedroom! You have captivated me; I stand trembling before you. Darling, lead me swiftly into the bedroom! Sweetheart, let me do the sweetest things to you! My precocious caress is far sweeter than honey! In the bedchamber, dripping love’s honey, let us enjoy life’s sweetest thing. Sweetheart, let me do the sweetest things to you! My precocious caress is far sweeter than honey! Bridegroom, you will have your pleasure with me! Speak to my mother and she will reward you; speak to my father and he will give you gifts. I know how to give your body pleasure— then sleep, my darling, till the sun rises. To prove that you love me, give me your caresses, my Lord God, my guardian Angel and protector, my Shu-Sin, who gladdens Enlil’s heart, give me your caresses! My place like sticky honey, touch it with your hand! Place your hand over it like a honey-pot lid! Cup your hand over it like a honey cup! This is a balbale-song of Inanna. Published by Assyria News. NOTE: This may be earth’s oldest love poem, written around 2,000 BC, long before the Bible’s “Song of Solomon,” which had been considered to be the oldest extant love poem by some experts. A Child’s Christmas Prayer of Despair for a Hindu Saint by Michael R. Burch Santa Claus, for Christmas, please, don’t bring me toys, or games, or candy . . . just . . . Santa, please, I’m on my knees! . . . please don’t let Jesus torture Gandhi! Will Jesus Christ cause or allow Albert Einstein and Mahatma Gandhi to be tortured in an "eternal hell" for guessing wrong about which earthly religion to believe? The Endeavors of Lips by Michael R. Burch How sweet the endeavors of lips—to speak of the heights of those pleasures which left us weak in love’s strangely lit beds, where the cold springs creak: for there is no illusion like love ... Grown childlike, we wish for those storied days, for those bright sprays of flowers, those primrosed ways that curled to the towers of Yesterdays where She braided illusions of love ... “O, let down your hair!”—we might call and call, to the dark-slatted window, the moonlit wall ... but our love is a shadow; we watch it crawl like a spidery illusion. For love ... was never as real as that first kiss seemed when we read by the flashlight and dreamed. Are You the Thief by Michael R. Burch for Beth When I touch you now, O sweet lover, full of fire, melting like ice in my embrace . . . when I part the delicate white lace, baring pale flesh, and your face is so close that I breathe your breath and your hair surrounds me like a wreath . . . tell me now, O sweet, sweet lover, in good faith . . . are you the thief who has stolen my heart? After the Deluge by Michael R. Burch She was kinder than light to an up-reaching flower and sweeter than rain to the bees in their bower where anemones blush at the affections they shower, and love’s shocking power. She shocked me to life, but soon left me to wither. I was listless without her, nor could I be with her. I fell under the spell of her absence’s power. in that calamitous hour. Like blithe showers that fled repealing spring’s sweetness; like suns’ warming rays sped away, with such fleetness ... she has taken my heart— alas, our completeness! I now wilt in pale beams of her occult remembrance. Published by The HyperTexts Ah! Sunflower by Michael R. Burch after William Blake O little yellow flower like a star ... how beautiful, how wonderful we are! The People Loved What They Had Loved Before by Michael R. Burch We did not worship at the shrine of tears; we knew not to believe, not to confess. And so, ahemming victors, to false cheers, we wrote off love, we gave a stern address to things that we disapproved of, things of yore. And the people loved what they had loved before. We did not build stone monuments to stand six hundred years and grow more strong and arch like bridges from the people to the Land beyond their reach. Instead, we played a march, pale Neros, sparking flames from door to door. And the people loved what they had loved before. We could not pipe of cheer, or even woe. We played a minor air of Ire (in E). The sheep chose to ignore us, even though, long destitute, we plied our songs for free. We wrote, rewrote and warbled one same score. And the people loved what they had loved before. At last outlandish wailing, we confess, ensued, because no listeners were left. We built a shrine to tears: our goddess less divine than man, and, like us, long bereft. We stooped to love too late, too Learned to whore. And the people loved what they had loved before.

Enter Author Name (Not Required)

Move Text:

Heading Text

Color:

Main/Poem Text

Color:

Layout: TallShort

www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry

The Moon As a Metaphor For Your Mouth

The Moon as a Metaphor for Your Mouth by Michael R. Burch When I was closest to love, it did not seem real at all, but a thing of such tenuous sweetness it might dissolve in my mouth like a lozenge of sugar. When I held you in my arms, I did not feel our lack of completeness, knowing how easy it was for us to cling to each other. And there were nights when the clouds sped across the moon’s face, exposing such rarified brightness we did not witness so much as embrace love’s human appearance. Keywords/Tags: Moon, metaphor, love, sweet, sweets, sweetness, sweet love, kiss, sugar, honey, melt, melting, dissolve, dissolving, candy, lozenge, tarts, confection, tablet, pill, cough drop, capsule, confit, bonbon, honey, sweetie, chocolate, symbolic, symbolism, romantic love I-Candy: Inconstant Temptress by Michael R. Burch Love, beautiful but fatal to many bewildered hearts, commands us to be faithful, then tempts us with sweets and tarts. (If I were younger, I would mention you are such a temptation.) The Love Song of Shu-Sin Earth’s Oldest Love Song (circa 2,000 BC) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Darling of my heart, my belovéd, your enticements are sweet, far sweeter than honey. Darling of my heart, my belovéd, your enticements are sweet, far sweeter than honey. You have captivated me; I stand trembling before you. Darling, lead me swiftly into the bedroom! You have captivated me; I stand trembling before you. Darling, lead me swiftly into the bedroom! Sweetheart, let me do the sweetest things to you! My precocious caress is far sweeter than honey! In the bedchamber, dripping love’s honey, let us enjoy life’s sweetest thing. Sweetheart, let me do the sweetest things to you! My precocious caress is far sweeter than honey! Bridegroom, you will have your pleasure with me! Speak to my mother and she will reward you; speak to my father and he will give you gifts. I know how to give your body pleasure— then sleep, my darling, till the sun rises. To prove that you love me, give me your caresses, my Lord God, my guardian Angel and protector, my Shu-Sin, who gladdens Enlil’s heart, give me your caresses! My place like sticky honey, touch it with your hand! Place your hand over it like a honey-pot lid! Cup your hand over it like a honey cup! This is a balbale-song of Inanna. Published by Assyria News. NOTE: This may be earth’s oldest love poem, written around 2,000 BC, long before the Bible’s “Song of Solomon,” which had been considered to be the oldest extant love poem by some experts. A Child’s Christmas Prayer of Despair for a Hindu Saint by Michael R. Burch Santa Claus, for Christmas, please, don’t bring me toys, or games, or candy . . . just . . . Santa, please, I’m on my knees! . . . please don’t let Jesus torture Gandhi! Will Jesus Christ cause or allow Albert Einstein and Mahatma Gandhi to be tortured in an "eternal hell" for guessing wrong about which earthly religion to believe? The Endeavors of Lips by Michael R. Burch How sweet the endeavors of lips—to speak of the heights of those pleasures which left us weak in love’s strangely lit beds, where the cold springs creak: for there is no illusion like love ... Grown childlike, we wish for those storied days, for those bright sprays of flowers, those primrosed ways that curled to the towers of Yesterdays where She braided illusions of love ... “O, let down your hair!”—we might call and call, to the dark-slatted window, the moonlit wall ... but our love is a shadow; we watch it crawl like a spidery illusion. For love ... was never as real as that first kiss seemed when we read by the flashlight and dreamed. Are You the Thief by Michael R. Burch for Beth When I touch you now, O sweet lover, full of fire, melting like ice in my embrace . . . when I part the delicate white lace, baring pale flesh, and your face is so close that I breathe your breath and your hair surrounds me like a wreath . . . tell me now, O sweet, sweet lover, in good faith . . . are you the thief who has stolen my heart? After the Deluge by Michael R. Burch She was kinder than light to an up-reaching flower and sweeter than rain to the bees in their bower where anemones blush at the affections they shower, and love’s shocking power. She shocked me to life, but soon left me to wither. I was listless without her, nor could I be with her. I fell under the spell of her absence’s power. in that calamitous hour. Like blithe showers that fled repealing spring’s sweetness; like suns’ warming rays sped away, with such fleetness ... she has taken my heart— alas, our completeness! I now wilt in pale beams of her occult remembrance. Published by The HyperTexts Ah! Sunflower by Michael R. Burch after William Blake O little yellow flower like a star ... how beautiful, how wonderful we are! The People Loved What They Had Loved Before by Michael R. Burch We did not worship at the shrine of tears; we knew not to believe, not to confess. And so, ahemming victors, to false cheers, we wrote off love, we gave a stern address to things that we disapproved of, things of yore. And the people loved what they had loved before. We did not build stone monuments to stand six hundred years and grow more strong and arch like bridges from the people to the Land beyond their reach. Instead, we played a march, pale Neros, sparking flames from door to door. And the people loved what they had loved before. We could not pipe of cheer, or even woe. We played a minor air of Ire (in E). The sheep chose to ignore us, even though, long destitute, we plied our songs for free. We wrote, rewrote and warbled one same score. And the people loved what they had loved before. At last outlandish wailing, we confess, ensued, because no listeners were left. We built a shrine to tears: our goddess less divine than man, and, like us, long bereft. We stooped to love too late, too Learned to whore. And the people loved what they had loved before.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things