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.
Enter Title (Not Required)
Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Blues in the Night. A malignant moon shines his metallic claws - combs my hair and brushes me forward. I am alone in the shadowy crooks of a poisoned metropolis. A clandestine garbage chute - where waifs and strays burn within the fetid bowels of a cavernous concrete underbelly. The orphanage awaits my arrival, as muted outcries are crushed beneath my footsteps. A parentless prison teeters atop Utopia's dreaded brim; the hamlet where Orwell slew Hilton. St. Peter has been released and no longer tends the kitchen. Agony and angel wings reneged a redundant brotherhood of sorts. His recipe for remorse shall be missed. Blues in the Night. In the distance, feigned epileptic outbursts placates a patron's fears. Caffeine injections stimulates another's venial sins as it magnifies their cardinal options. An insomnious woman converses with a napkin holder. The surface is dull and unreflective, like she. Banter never-to-be heard by her never-to-be gentleman caller. I am home – amongst the dead I adore. A haggard waitress serves me a menu. A laminated journal stained with melancholy and mustard. Desolation and demi-tasse are tonight’s midnight special. Ten cents additional, if you order deluxe. Blues in the Night. I twiddle my thumbs for I have no other’s to borrow. I catch my rugged reflection in the asylum’s window. I espy my counterpart again in a twisted spoon - realizing I’m three utensils short from a grievous quartet salted with Mack Sennett misfits. A collection of dishes clatter above the sanatorium’s jukebox. I place my spoon on the counter and pick up a lifeless knife. I envy its potential and possibilities as Woody Herman croons in the background.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)