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 O Magog, from the sterile land of Gog, thou rejoicest over how thy biological idol father hast devilishly embraced thee Spiritual mathematics offer free radical theorems of probability analysis Doth thy Gentile nuclear goggles allow thee to see the virtual microbe mushrooming variables in a decaying half-life reality? O bastard son of a thousand fathers Raised on sour milk doctrines, from the hard paps — Udders on an impudent heifer mother of a thousand harlots, has weaned thee in the ways of greed and destruction Canst thy cannibal siblings, Tiras and Meshech, help save thee with their scientific, canine calculations? O Magog, from the mutated land of Gog, will thy incestuous father’s Tubal-cain covetous leprosy overtake thee? Thou loveth thy beauty spots inordinately Brimstone salt cities of wanton lasciviousness pepper thy mutilated land The merchants of concupiscence travel ceaselessly upon thy algorithm waves Slavishly trafficking tainted wares exponentially in thy free marketplaces As the integer worms of digital reproach feed upon the Kittim kabuki faces Probability analysis predict with prescient accuracy: The radioactive remnants of a cancerous tumor civilization, shall struggle mightily to revive it’s flag half-mast past glory O Magog, the war dogs of death howl oppressively for thee Thy merchant ghost ships of Tarshish has become floating debris Glowing green false profit wreckage washes upon thy polluted Gog shores continually O Magog, who shall account for thy losses? Does not the tabulated numerical conclusion reveal the astronomical costliness of thy prolific, propagating cloned vanity? Which of thy mariner children shall read the technological epitaph on thy submerged Titanic tombstone? Triple digit uncertainty doth statistically vex thee ... because of the frightening probability analysis, which thou vile reptilian mind didst not take heed O Magog, chief Gentile prince from the barren hinterland of Gog — There is no upraised hand to retrieve thy dropped divining scepter
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