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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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A poet is a man with words, And words a weapon are. His words are sharply stropped and so He makes them travel far. He makes them cover many miles, Emotive ones at that, Digest those miles, absorbs their styles, Gestate them, thinking back. Then, having indigestion, our Young poet now must crumble, Or re-invest those travelled words In a new song, strong but humble. He reaches in to get the feel, He crawls to depths un-shared. He wonders is that’s all there is And dances with despair. But he reaches out to touch The great Designing Hand By whom all things were made, who took That great creative stand, Whose mind spun wildly when He thought Of making man like Him, With vivid sensitivities, A heart to reach and dream. He stretches, and the Hand is there To touch and know the power Of gentle sensitivity In this harmonious hour. He starts to write he knows not what, Marvels at the sight Of these rich words that tumble out In order neat and tight, The words are sharp. They know their place. Their rhythms dance and play. He dances too, though the tune is new, The words make no delay. They place themselves before his eyes. His eyebrows on the rise, His eyes wide open watching while His hand the keyboard plies. He takes a breath before he reads What he has written down. His heart expands, and satisfied, He thinks of what he had inside And finds it grandly multiplied While he seems just the clown.

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The Poet's Task

A poet is a man with words, And words a weapon are. His words are sharply stropped and so He makes them travel far. He makes them cover many miles, Emotive ones at that, Digest those miles, absorbs their styles, Gestate them, thinking back. Then, having indigestion, our Young poet now must crumble, Or re-invest those travelled words In a new song, strong but humble. He reaches in to get the feel, He crawls to depths un-shared. He wonders is that’s all there is And dances with despair. But he reaches out to touch The great Designing Hand By whom all things were made, who took That great creative stand, Whose mind spun wildly when He thought Of making man like Him, With vivid sensitivities, A heart to reach and dream. He stretches, and the Hand is there To touch and know the power Of gentle sensitivity In this harmonious hour. He starts to write he knows not what, Marvels at the sight Of these rich words that tumble out In order neat and tight, The words are sharp. They know their place. Their rhythms dance and play. He dances too, though the tune is new, The words make no delay. They place themselves before his eyes. His eyebrows on the rise, His eyes wide open watching while His hand the keyboard plies. He takes a breath before he reads What he has written down. His heart expands, and satisfied, He thinks of what he had inside And finds it grandly multiplied While he seems just the clown.