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
Rainbow Winkin’ by Odin Roark Sitting atop worn tires, We remove wax paper, Positioning our Wonder bread sandwiches, Cheese, Bologna, Mayo, A canned pickle, Each with a note. Dad’s: Have a good day. Mine: Mother’s thinking about you. Scrawny rib-bare Brutus, Junkyard dog with a heart, Pants patiently, Knowing my rejected crusts are his. Welding sparks fly across the yard. Bertha, another earthmover in repair, Readying for tomorrow’s needs Rests silently a few hours before Diesel-noise-hell fires up, Chalking up another rugged workout, Shortening its life another day. We pass the bottle. Only one soda pop today. Dad ran out. We share. Bite of sandwich. Gulp some burp-ola. We both sit silent. 10 and 55 with little to say. Age separation’s itch Hesitant to scratch. We chew and stare. Oil slick puddle Holds our attention. We smile. “Pretty ain’t it?” He says. “Yeah, I guess,” I says. “Gotta ‘preciate rainbows son.” “Yeah I guess.” “Oil’s from Bertha over there?” I ask. He nods “Yeah. Her crankcase be hurtin’ lot lately.” “Bad, eh?” He nods again. “Yup. Might be on her last days.” I look back at the puddle. “It is pretty.” “You bet it is.” He wraps part of the sandwich back up. “Have the rest later.” “Why does oil get all rainbowy, Dad?” He flashes his grin. “Earth’s way of winkin’, son. “Sharin’ some buried history. All them bones, Leaves, Trees, Relatives, Soon us. Just old life winkin’.” He stands, Adjusts his bib overalls, Looks down at me. I gulp the last of burp-ola, Stifle a belch, And take a last glance at the oil slick. “Thanks.” He looks down at the rainbow changing colors. “It hears ya. Yup.”

Enter Author Name (Not Required)

Move Text:

Heading Text

Color:

Main/Poem Text

Color:

Background Position Alignment:
LeftCenterRight | TopCenterBottom

Tall Bkgds
Wide Bkgds

Upload Image:

Fit to HeightFit to Width

10mb max file size

Use Internet Image:

Fit to HeightFit to Width

Like: https://www.poetrysoup.com/images/ce_Finnaly_home_soare.jpg

Layout: TallShort

www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry

Rainbow Winkin'

Rainbow Winkin’ by Odin Roark Sitting atop worn tires, We remove wax paper, Positioning our Wonder bread sandwiches, Cheese, Bologna, Mayo, A canned pickle, Each with a note. Dad’s: Have a good day. Mine: Mother’s thinking about you. Scrawny rib-bare Brutus, Junkyard dog with a heart, Pants patiently, Knowing my rejected crusts are his. Welding sparks fly across the yard. Bertha, another earthmover in repair, Readying for tomorrow’s needs Rests silently a few hours before Diesel-noise-hell fires up, Chalking up another rugged workout, Shortening its life another day. We pass the bottle. Only one soda pop today. Dad ran out. We share. Bite of sandwich. Gulp some burp-ola. We both sit silent. 10 and 55 with little to say. Age separation’s itch Hesitant to scratch. We chew and stare. Oil slick puddle Holds our attention. We smile. “Pretty ain’t it?” He says. “Yeah, I guess,” I says. “Gotta ‘preciate rainbows son.” “Yeah I guess.” “Oil’s from Bertha over there?” I ask. He nods “Yeah. Her crankcase be hurtin’ lot lately.” “Bad, eh?” He nods again. “Yup. Might be on her last days.” I look back at the puddle. “It is pretty.” “You bet it is.” He wraps part of the sandwich back up. “Have the rest later.” “Why does oil get all rainbowy, Dad?” He flashes his grin. “Earth’s way of winkin’, son. “Sharin’ some buried history. All them bones, Leaves, Trees, Relatives, Soon us. Just old life winkin’.” He stands, Adjusts his bib overalls, Looks down at me. I gulp the last of burp-ola, Stifle a belch, And take a last glance at the oil slick. “Thanks.” He looks down at the rainbow changing colors. “It hears ya. Yup.”