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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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A manic man sits, evenly, confined, conscious, in his four cornered room. His cell phone rings and violently vibrates! The terrible tone slashed and sliced the serene silence he had been anticipating all afternoon. It was her! The one he was trying to ignore. He could feel her presence, penetrating, trying to get through phone. “Why is she calling—why now?” He pondered and mused. He began to curse the moment and what it had become. He felt his body burst in to two and a ritualistic battle ensued, between two beings deep within his core. One beseeches him to pick up the phone, while the other tells him no. Then it rang again, even louder than before!! It made his temperature soar, his body burned, and his hands began to sweat. He rubbed them on his khaki pants so hard, that his legs nearly went numb. Not before long, his whole body was wet, with sweat, saturating his clothes so he tore them off. Soaking wet, he reluctantly reached for the phone. It rang again, even louder than the two before!!! He created a fist and put it through a wall. His mind, stalled. He looked at her number, emblazoned on his phone, flashing like a billboard—advertising lies, the same ones he’s seen and bought, over and over, a hundred thousand times. He knew if he talked, his hell would remain the same, so he tried to stay dry, and remain somewhat sane. As he waited for his vigilant voicemail to save the day, it rang once again, much…much louder than before!!!! He covered his ears only to feel the drums of war, beating, pounding, profoundly in his chest. The battle was long and his insides raged on. He started to feel himself finally losing grip, of a stronger, sturdier, “A brand new self!” But as the milliseconds ticked on, he found himself reverting back, to a weaker, worn- out, “I can’t stand myself.” He had agreed that no matter how much he groaned—he was not to pick up the phone! So he shouted, and then he screamed! Then another vicious ring brought the man cascading to his knees. All hope—gone, the battle—lost. With the white flag waved, he gave one last huff, and one last puff and politely said “hello…” Submitted for Rambling's "Act I, SceneI" contest.

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How Nice of You To Call

A manic man sits, evenly, confined, conscious, in his four cornered room. His cell phone rings and violently vibrates! The terrible tone slashed and sliced the serene silence he had been anticipating all afternoon. It was her! The one he was trying to ignore. He could feel her presence, penetrating, trying to get through phone. “Why is she calling—why now?” He pondered and mused. He began to curse the moment and what it had become. He felt his body burst in to two and a ritualistic battle ensued, between two beings deep within his core. One beseeches him to pick up the phone, while the other tells him no. Then it rang again, even louder than before!! It made his temperature soar, his body burned, and his hands began to sweat. He rubbed them on his khaki pants so hard, that his legs nearly went numb. Not before long, his whole body was wet, with sweat, saturating his clothes so he tore them off. Soaking wet, he reluctantly reached for the phone. It rang again, even louder than the two before!!! He created a fist and put it through a wall. His mind, stalled. He looked at her number, emblazoned on his phone, flashing like a billboard—advertising lies, the same ones he’s seen and bought, over and over, a hundred thousand times. He knew if he talked, his hell would remain the same, so he tried to stay dry, and remain somewhat sane. As he waited for his vigilant voicemail to save the day, it rang once again, much…much louder than before!!!! He covered his ears only to feel the drums of war, beating, pounding, profoundly in his chest. The battle was long and his insides raged on. He started to feel himself finally losing grip, of a stronger, sturdier, “A brand new self!” But as the milliseconds ticked on, he found himself reverting back, to a weaker, worn- out, “I can’t stand myself.” He had agreed that no matter how much he groaned—he was not to pick up the phone! So he shouted, and then he screamed! Then another vicious ring brought the man cascading to his knees. All hope—gone, the battle—lost. With the white flag waved, he gave one last huff, and one last puff and politely said “hello…” Submitted for Rambling's "Act I, SceneI" contest.