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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 can only write on the computer. And I suppose that that’s not really the right thing to say, because people are going to say that I really am part of the next generation who survives solely by technology. I really do try to write on paper, but I can only use pen because pencil smudges too easily and the end gets so dull, So when people say that they can’t send me a link to one of their favorite poems because it’s on paper, my respect for them goes up by about sixty percent. The part of writing on paper that scares me the most, the part of speaking in real life that scares me the most is that I can’t delete words. On Microsoft Word, I can go back and add words into the middle of my poem, I can look at it as a whole and as a half and everywhere in between, I can delete half of it and forget about, and that half will be lost forever. But the way my fingers sometimes stick to the keyboard reminds me, I think, that the words that I’ve deleted stick with me forever, no matter how lost they are. They’re not in some vast, infinite vacuum of the internet- but stuck to my fingers because that was the only physical presence of those words at the time they were given life. (Baby ducks follow the first moving thing they see when they hatch,) And it’s some weird, modern folk tale, how the words got life, and how the words died. So maybe if I’m the only one who can’t write on paper, then this word carrying curse is the punishment? It’s a special flaw that makes the protagonist unique but relatable, (along with making her not able to spell anything and not able to talk to people) And if poetry is just rambling and writing is ranting, then what are words. The cancerous cells in a slice of bone marrow? More likely some hellish creature that comes out of everyone only at two in the morning, or the sticky stuff that I feel sometimes on my keyboard (or is it my fingers?) Because my sticky fingers are a word’s physical form, and if you think about it, you really can’t ever touch a word. They’re either soundwaves or dried ink on a dead tree, or pixels on a screen. (or on your fingertips or your tongue.) And I carry them with me everywhere, on my tongue and on my sticky fingers.

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Sticky Fingers

I can only write on the computer. And I suppose that that’s not really the right thing to say, because people are going to say that I really am part of the next generation who survives solely by technology. I really do try to write on paper, but I can only use pen because pencil smudges too easily and the end gets so dull, So when people say that they can’t send me a link to one of their favorite poems because it’s on paper, my respect for them goes up by about sixty percent. The part of writing on paper that scares me the most, the part of speaking in real life that scares me the most is that I can’t delete words. On Microsoft Word, I can go back and add words into the middle of my poem, I can look at it as a whole and as a half and everywhere in between, I can delete half of it and forget about, and that half will be lost forever. But the way my fingers sometimes stick to the keyboard reminds me, I think, that the words that I’ve deleted stick with me forever, no matter how lost they are. They’re not in some vast, infinite vacuum of the internet- but stuck to my fingers because that was the only physical presence of those words at the time they were given life. (Baby ducks follow the first moving thing they see when they hatch,) And it’s some weird, modern folk tale, how the words got life, and how the words died. So maybe if I’m the only one who can’t write on paper, then this word carrying curse is the punishment? It’s a special flaw that makes the protagonist unique but relatable, (along with making her not able to spell anything and not able to talk to people) And if poetry is just rambling and writing is ranting, then what are words. The cancerous cells in a slice of bone marrow? More likely some hellish creature that comes out of everyone only at two in the morning, or the sticky stuff that I feel sometimes on my keyboard (or is it my fingers?) Because my sticky fingers are a word’s physical form, and if you think about it, you really can’t ever touch a word. They’re either soundwaves or dried ink on a dead tree, or pixels on a screen. (or on your fingertips or your tongue.) And I carry them with me everywhere, on my tongue and on my sticky fingers.