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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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I noticed the uniform, and the heavy soled shinny black boots Not the man within it, I apologized. I remember the clean fresh smell of maleness, as they stormed into the house, Broken glass, ripped down hangings, a slashed sofa, a pulled curtain, A sudden maneuver to throw my brother’s bear across the yard, Such military worries, hidden bombs in a child’s best friend. Your broken cross I buried in our garden after they left.God, come back to my house, I am waiting. All I saw were figures painted the colour of grass and bark, with gilded edges traced by some crazed church painter's brush, faceless with pockets full of bullets and chords, Their arms intertwined with red eyes and swollen hands of my teachers, Stiff figures against the soft jeans, sweaters, and knitted hats below. Standing witness in the yard above watching, I waited for her to die. Shinny black like the dirt dug from the mass grave, Full of crumbled human bits, decaying coloured cloth, while the sun scorched the group sorting the cellular samples I saw the black boots etched into the bone fragments. Lost bones of lost loved ones from empty families, Standing in the desert, I wait for a name. No, I do not see you the man, just the uniform. I see the butt of the gun, the dent of the boot, the slickness in the air, the cruel power of the swirl jungle green print with gold trim. As a witness God left me, and I was waiting. Change, let me meet the man, maybe the waiting is over.

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The Uniform

I noticed the uniform, and the heavy soled shinny black boots Not the man within it, I apologized. I remember the clean fresh smell of maleness, as they stormed into the house, Broken glass, ripped down hangings, a slashed sofa, a pulled curtain, A sudden maneuver to throw my brother’s bear across the yard, Such military worries, hidden bombs in a child’s best friend. Your broken cross I buried in our garden after they left.God, come back to my house, I am waiting. All I saw were figures painted the colour of grass and bark, with gilded edges traced by some crazed church painter's brush, faceless with pockets full of bullets and chords, Their arms intertwined with red eyes and swollen hands of my teachers, Stiff figures against the soft jeans, sweaters, and knitted hats below. Standing witness in the yard above watching, I waited for her to die. Shinny black like the dirt dug from the mass grave, Full of crumbled human bits, decaying coloured cloth, while the sun scorched the group sorting the cellular samples I saw the black boots etched into the bone fragments. Lost bones of lost loved ones from empty families, Standing in the desert, I wait for a name. No, I do not see you the man, just the uniform. I see the butt of the gun, the dent of the boot, the slickness in the air, the cruel power of the swirl jungle green print with gold trim. As a witness God left me, and I was waiting. Change, let me meet the man, maybe the waiting is over.