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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 was a girl of only 5 years when I looked across the desert and saw a cloud of smoke covering the skies off in the distance. I remember being afraid that my grandmother might be hurt because she lived there with my Uncle Sofarlo, his wife and my cousins. It was during the season of the drought, so the sky was bright blue everywhere except above Grandma’s Village. I thought that the blazing sun had sparked a flame in one of the huts. All I could do was hope that Grandma was okay. A few days later, one of my cousins, Lekelo, stormed into our hut and collapsed on the ground. He said that Uncle Sofarlo was a little way behind and was bringing grandmother in a cart. I never saw Lekelo so thin. His face looked like leather stretched over a skull. His skin was scorched and terror shown through the tiny slits of his sunken eyes. They were almost swollen shut. His tears had made mini-gullies through the ashes that stuck to his charred face. He fell to the floor of our hut and Mom ran over to put a blanket under him. My oldest sister drew a bucket of water and brought some leaves to wash and soothe his wounds. Everyone was running around trying to help him revive, but it did not look good. Of course I was terrified. I might have been only five, but I knew that something awful must have happened. He kept muttering the same thing over and over, “Janjaweed, Janjaweed, Janjaweed” until finally, he spoke no more. Dad frantically sounded the drum. Copyright 10-13-2014 I chose Dafarian Genocide. Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: GENOCIDE: SPEAK FOR THE LOST... the FORM IS POETIC PROSE Sponsor Cyndi MacMillan BE SURE TO READ THE CONCLUSION IN PART 2.

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I Survived Janjaweed Part 1

I was a girl of only 5 years when I looked across the desert and saw a cloud of smoke covering the skies off in the distance. I remember being afraid that my grandmother might be hurt because she lived there with my Uncle Sofarlo, his wife and my cousins. It was during the season of the drought, so the sky was bright blue everywhere except above Grandma’s Village. I thought that the blazing sun had sparked a flame in one of the huts. All I could do was hope that Grandma was okay. A few days later, one of my cousins, Lekelo, stormed into our hut and collapsed on the ground. He said that Uncle Sofarlo was a little way behind and was bringing grandmother in a cart. I never saw Lekelo so thin. His face looked like leather stretched over a skull. His skin was scorched and terror shown through the tiny slits of his sunken eyes. They were almost swollen shut. His tears had made mini-gullies through the ashes that stuck to his charred face. He fell to the floor of our hut and Mom ran over to put a blanket under him. My oldest sister drew a bucket of water and brought some leaves to wash and soothe his wounds. Everyone was running around trying to help him revive, but it did not look good. Of course I was terrified. I might have been only five, but I knew that something awful must have happened. He kept muttering the same thing over and over, “Janjaweed, Janjaweed, Janjaweed” until finally, he spoke no more. Dad frantically sounded the drum. Copyright 10-13-2014 I chose Dafarian Genocide. Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: GENOCIDE: SPEAK FOR THE LOST... the FORM IS POETIC PROSE Sponsor Cyndi MacMillan BE SURE TO READ THE CONCLUSION IN PART 2.