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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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required What's the espresso this evening, Rubicam? My random access memory will light upon it As I riffle the files of my brain. Pulling out something fresh, I burst out with words to cover the enigma. Bones Bones are the fare-- Stewed bones with marrow deep inside. Cracking the bones of the chicken leg, I find essence, Everlasting purity so well stored and tucked away, Like a savings account or DNA. The vapor of mud rises fleet and narrow. This is the conduit of the inner sanctum, The railroad across Canada in the snow. Red vertigo covers the wheels as they turn, Rolling asunder like a sky. We eat and gorge on the beauty of it-- The holy thing-- Sent all holy and shiny new. We split the marrow with a scalpel, All sharply tooled and honed. The operation is a success at last-- Liberation is at hand surely. The vice has fallen away, And the orange center is revealed. My word-center is on autopilot; I am still, silent, patient. Then the marrow grows overabundant, Needing quick hands to capture the thief, Lest escape be granted. The expository hose is drawn up. The bare leg is covered and modesty satisfied. There is no canker in this truth, Being pure to the core, Pure as blood-marrow. The stigma is gone out of it. Holy is the anthem and the chorus Sings a greeting to the little people Who stand waiting in line. They watch for some illumination Of the dark letters written on their souls Bandits would not deride them in such an instance. Horses in a fever will trample words, But words re-form; they cannot die. You who bear the mystery, Who cannot die, You have palpated my heart And signified a vast reference point, Pleading to me with a sad song. My turbulence is all inside me, A stormy affair, Always sorting and reeling back with shock As the ivy vine climbs the ancient wall. If you had no device, Would you not read more books? The man dignified in the third person Will ask the questions here, mind you. Return to me again loon of the wide lake, Loon hiding in the reeds. Show me your face before you fly, And sound your voice in the evening.
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