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
When I was a youth the earth was our friend, as it was our means of escape. We would run and chase each other across great distances, far away from the confines of home and its stifling traditions; we would imagine that we were flying a few feet above the ground following the contours of hills and valleys, crossing streams in a single bound or leaping to treetops. Elsewhere we would dig elaborate tunnels in the earth. We dug in the red clay until our hands were blistered. Sweat and soil mixed in our hands and on our arms and chests; filling the pores of our skin. We could taste and spit the iron colored dust. When our day was done we would recline in the shade until our bodies dried with caked red earth. We would then cover our labors with scrap wood, dirt and scrub bushes to blend with the surroundings. The tunnels were constructed in obscure forested locations to further their concealment. It was necessary to dig around tree roots and large boulders which became integrated into the tunnel structure and provided openings for multiple entries and exits. As such the tunnel passages were never straight, but root-like, turning and twisting following a path of least resistance. The passages were no wider or taller than what we could crawl through, and branching off the passages were multiple chambers where four or five of us could tightly gather in privacy, illuminated by candle light. The tunnel interiors were cool in the summer and also protected us from harsh winter winds. Here we would plot against nearby enemy tunnels. This is where we initiated and observed our own secret rituals and myths; meeting times, passwords, schemes, fears and desires. While excavating, we had discover buried bones and imagined they were our ancient heroes that the old ones talked about. We placed the bones at the entrance of our underground fortress to warn trespassers and identify allegiance to our fallen hero, whomsoever it was. Our heroes could have been anyone that we accidentally dug up. We learned at some later age that we had dug our trenches into an unmarked cemetery that was taken over by the forest many eons ago. Later, the tunnels were where we first became acquainted with sex, alcohol and drugs; fortunately for most of us, such acquaintances didn’t last too long. This is how we came to intimately know the land and ourselves. We were digging to find; shaping and making with our hands a place to call our own. Here is where our innocence began and ended as so many generations before. We are so connected to the land; always underfoot our lives roll over it, we dig into it and it’s where we finally return to rest to feed the soil; we are inseparable, as a fish to water.

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

The Land Continued

When I was a youth the earth was our friend, as it was our means of escape. We would run and chase each other across great distances, far away from the confines of home and its stifling traditions; we would imagine that we were flying a few feet above the ground following the contours of hills and valleys, crossing streams in a single bound or leaping to treetops. Elsewhere we would dig elaborate tunnels in the earth. We dug in the red clay until our hands were blistered. Sweat and soil mixed in our hands and on our arms and chests; filling the pores of our skin. We could taste and spit the iron colored dust. When our day was done we would recline in the shade until our bodies dried with caked red earth. We would then cover our labors with scrap wood, dirt and scrub bushes to blend with the surroundings. The tunnels were constructed in obscure forested locations to further their concealment. It was necessary to dig around tree roots and large boulders which became integrated into the tunnel structure and provided openings for multiple entries and exits. As such the tunnel passages were never straight, but root-like, turning and twisting following a path of least resistance. The passages were no wider or taller than what we could crawl through, and branching off the passages were multiple chambers where four or five of us could tightly gather in privacy, illuminated by candle light. The tunnel interiors were cool in the summer and also protected us from harsh winter winds. Here we would plot against nearby enemy tunnels. This is where we initiated and observed our own secret rituals and myths; meeting times, passwords, schemes, fears and desires. While excavating, we had discover buried bones and imagined they were our ancient heroes that the old ones talked about. We placed the bones at the entrance of our underground fortress to warn trespassers and identify allegiance to our fallen hero, whomsoever it was. Our heroes could have been anyone that we accidentally dug up. We learned at some later age that we had dug our trenches into an unmarked cemetery that was taken over by the forest many eons ago. Later, the tunnels were where we first became acquainted with sex, alcohol and drugs; fortunately for most of us, such acquaintances didn’t last too long. This is how we came to intimately know the land and ourselves. We were digging to find; shaping and making with our hands a place to call our own. Here is where our innocence began and ended as so many generations before. We are so connected to the land; always underfoot our lives roll over it, we dig into it and it’s where we finally return to rest to feed the soil; we are inseparable, as a fish to water.