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
I Am The Final Word And The First Word I’m having another one of those night sweats again. I am on my back here as naked as David, On this slip-covered sofa of mine, Counting the cracks on the ceiling. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… Heavy perspiration is gathering upon my palms And I can’t seem to get rid of it no matter how hard I try… Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… I’ve even tried using this eye-dropper here, But when I apply some suction By pinching this black rubber thing here, I can’t seem to bring All that freaking moisture up into the transparent tube… Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty… Crazy how one’s hand sweats so freely, Sweating, sweating sweating Like an hysterical woman With dead baby betwixt her ironing board fingers. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven… “Dead baby for sale. Dead baby for sale.” There are 28 cracks up there. Wait a minute. “Is that you Norma Jean?” “No. I’m not Marilyn.” “Yes, I know. You’re Norma Jeane. Remember?” “Yes, I am Norma Jeane. My baby was alive, but now…” “How did it die sweetheart?” “If you could only know What it’s like to be the object of a million male eyes And a million right hands. Look at me and my dead baby that was never born. I cannot describe the heartbreak. I don’t even want to describe it.” “If I had to have a dead baby, I wouldn’t want it to ever be born in the first place, I guess.” “Fifty million murders to come.” “Huh?” “Fifty million unborn murders to come, after I’m gone. Count them. Fifty million dead babies that Will never see the light of day. My soul can’t stand it! I want to scream but I can’t because, well, I’m not alive anymore, Even though you think I am.” “Norma Jeane. Norma Jeane I desire your lips, your red luscious lips. I want to live and stop perspiring like this. I need you to live.” “Here, take this dead baby first.” “*****! How dare you hand your dead baby to me! You deserve my hand across your face!” “So go ahead. Slap me. You’re no man at all if you think it’s okay to slap a film legend, Especially a dead one!” “And you’ve been spying on me too from across the way, Haven’t you? *****!” Maybe I came on too strong. Maybe I didn’t. But if anyone has the right to correct the blond bombshell, it’s me. Me because I am the one. I am the final word and the first word. I am the first mile traveled and the last mile traveled. I am the one who can truly satisfy the Girl of girls. The Helen of Helens. Jimmy and Joe D couldn’t satisfy her. The dead salesman couldn’t either. And Rhett, Jack and Bobby, well, what can I say. They didn’t give a *****about Norma Jeane. They just wanted to light their bics with some Norma butane, And say: “See ya later.” And they did. See ya later poor little blond thing with no past and no future. “Hi, it’s me, Marilyn. Can you come over for awhile? I’m so lonely tonight. Please. I can’t stand the quiet and the boredom. The silence here in my room is so loud I think I am going mad. Please, I need a man! A man who will cuddle with me And tickle gently my naked arm. All I need is some simple tenderness. Please. I feel the universe closing in on me, And I can’t breathe. Please.” This eye- dropper is useless I say! Just dripping in sweat, And the 28 cracks on my ceiling Have increased to 29.

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

I Am the Final Word and the First Word

I Am The Final Word And The First Word I’m having another one of those night sweats again. I am on my back here as naked as David, On this slip-covered sofa of mine, Counting the cracks on the ceiling. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… Heavy perspiration is gathering upon my palms And I can’t seem to get rid of it no matter how hard I try… Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… I’ve even tried using this eye-dropper here, But when I apply some suction By pinching this black rubber thing here, I can’t seem to bring All that freaking moisture up into the transparent tube… Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty… Crazy how one’s hand sweats so freely, Sweating, sweating sweating Like an hysterical woman With dead baby betwixt her ironing board fingers. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven… “Dead baby for sale. Dead baby for sale.” There are 28 cracks up there. Wait a minute. “Is that you Norma Jean?” “No. I’m not Marilyn.” “Yes, I know. You’re Norma Jeane. Remember?” “Yes, I am Norma Jeane. My baby was alive, but now…” “How did it die sweetheart?” “If you could only know What it’s like to be the object of a million male eyes And a million right hands. Look at me and my dead baby that was never born. I cannot describe the heartbreak. I don’t even want to describe it.” “If I had to have a dead baby, I wouldn’t want it to ever be born in the first place, I guess.” “Fifty million murders to come.” “Huh?” “Fifty million unborn murders to come, after I’m gone. Count them. Fifty million dead babies that Will never see the light of day. My soul can’t stand it! I want to scream but I can’t because, well, I’m not alive anymore, Even though you think I am.” “Norma Jeane. Norma Jeane I desire your lips, your red luscious lips. I want to live and stop perspiring like this. I need you to live.” “Here, take this dead baby first.” “*****! How dare you hand your dead baby to me! You deserve my hand across your face!” “So go ahead. Slap me. You’re no man at all if you think it’s okay to slap a film legend, Especially a dead one!” “And you’ve been spying on me too from across the way, Haven’t you? *****!” Maybe I came on too strong. Maybe I didn’t. But if anyone has the right to correct the blond bombshell, it’s me. Me because I am the one. I am the final word and the first word. I am the first mile traveled and the last mile traveled. I am the one who can truly satisfy the Girl of girls. The Helen of Helens. Jimmy and Joe D couldn’t satisfy her. The dead salesman couldn’t either. And Rhett, Jack and Bobby, well, what can I say. They didn’t give a *****about Norma Jeane. They just wanted to light their bics with some Norma butane, And say: “See ya later.” And they did. See ya later poor little blond thing with no past and no future. “Hi, it’s me, Marilyn. Can you come over for awhile? I’m so lonely tonight. Please. I can’t stand the quiet and the boredom. The silence here in my room is so loud I think I am going mad. Please, I need a man! A man who will cuddle with me And tickle gently my naked arm. All I need is some simple tenderness. Please. I feel the universe closing in on me, And I can’t breathe. Please.” This eye- dropper is useless I say! Just dripping in sweat, And the 28 cracks on my ceiling Have increased to 29.