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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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It wasn’t until this evening while I was sitting in the hospital lobby watching blood pour from underneath my chair from the women behind me waiting for my name to be murmured over the loud speaker that I witnessed the depths our society is willing to go. Directly across from me was Gertrude, I don’t think that was her real name, but that’s what I called her Cyclops pouch that was playing peek-a-boo with the 5 month old child bouncing on her knee. The mother’s arms (if you could call her that) were as holy as a tree after a woodpecker has established residency and as blue as the vessels that carry blood to her heart. Maybe the doctors will show her how to properly insert a needle when she goes behind the curtain wall. To my left were the Espinoza’s, a family of five, maybe six, there was a boy playing in the parking garage by a van with a rock, he was waving it around like a wand. The wife was the one having problems, she does not remember them, even if she did, she couldn’t say them. It was as if I was watching a 2 year old communicate with no teeth desperately trying to pronounce words that start with “S” or “F” At least she was trying. They couldn’t find their insurance card, she couldn’t remember where she put it. She looked at her translator for assistance but he was to busy rocking their child to sleep. In the corner were the Muses, it did not seem like there was anything wrong, as if their son or daughter dropped them off hoping for something to happen to inherit the family fortune. I think they were really there to oversee the moral of the lobby, contracted out by the hospital staff to amuse and entertain frustrated numbers, because that’s all we are, numbers on a chart board, names on a wristband, like cattle tagged by the ear. Jean was the older one; she had toes like crochet hooks, crossing over and looped, Gladdys was younger, wearing a green jumpsuit with a gold Greek Key belt, she looked like a dried out Christmas tree on the street leaning beside the trash cans after New Years. It was in the corner of my eye that I saw a sheer bit of hope for our World. Jean leaned over to the father, slipped money between the paint on his hands and the babies bottom and said, You have a beautiful family.

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There Was Six

It wasn’t until this evening while I was sitting in the hospital lobby watching blood pour from underneath my chair from the women behind me waiting for my name to be murmured over the loud speaker that I witnessed the depths our society is willing to go. Directly across from me was Gertrude, I don’t think that was her real name, but that’s what I called her Cyclops pouch that was playing peek-a-boo with the 5 month old child bouncing on her knee. The mother’s arms (if you could call her that) were as holy as a tree after a woodpecker has established residency and as blue as the vessels that carry blood to her heart. Maybe the doctors will show her how to properly insert a needle when she goes behind the curtain wall. To my left were the Espinoza’s, a family of five, maybe six, there was a boy playing in the parking garage by a van with a rock, he was waving it around like a wand. The wife was the one having problems, she does not remember them, even if she did, she couldn’t say them. It was as if I was watching a 2 year old communicate with no teeth desperately trying to pronounce words that start with “S” or “F” At least she was trying. They couldn’t find their insurance card, she couldn’t remember where she put it. She looked at her translator for assistance but he was to busy rocking their child to sleep. In the corner were the Muses, it did not seem like there was anything wrong, as if their son or daughter dropped them off hoping for something to happen to inherit the family fortune. I think they were really there to oversee the moral of the lobby, contracted out by the hospital staff to amuse and entertain frustrated numbers, because that’s all we are, numbers on a chart board, names on a wristband, like cattle tagged by the ear. Jean was the older one; she had toes like crochet hooks, crossing over and looped, Gladdys was younger, wearing a green jumpsuit with a gold Greek Key belt, she looked like a dried out Christmas tree on the street leaning beside the trash cans after New Years. It was in the corner of my eye that I saw a sheer bit of hope for our World. Jean leaned over to the father, slipped money between the paint on his hands and the babies bottom and said, You have a beautiful family.