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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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‘Twas but a mist-enshrouded speckle dark-painted on looming horizon. Petty worker holds unwavering watch, silently, stealthily keeps his eyes on. Forward motion undeniable, each passing minute size increasing. Small heart stands alert and viable – beating fast and tremulous; though, never ever ceasing. Moments reveal stark, unyielding visage so confident, assured, and smug; so grand in glory, so traveled, so worldly, laced in comment and compliment, so unlike our humble tug. Steely vessel stays its resolute course – deliverance of goods and fare its compensated victory. Tugboat sighs in the witness of the linear bulk - so heavily adorned in commercial livery. Gull passes low. Crying for what no mind can know, much less announce. A distraction that reminds no one here is tied by moorings, is secured by mounts. A tentative thrust is sputtered into the immensity of the saltwater bay. A test, an assurance of propulsion, some gesture, a semblance in making the smallest of headway. For surely it is his job to steer this myopic, shore-bound lug – a princely assignment for one so parochial as a six-legged bug. The behemoth is nigh, motion slowing, heading stupid; grand in size, demeanor, and experience - with steering as impotent as an arrow-less cupid. Stoic eyes peer down to the struggling, focused underling: “My name is Empire, it is written on my side. Surely, yours is not an important thing.” “You may be mighty and experienced and even handsome in a funny, indefinable way but I was created to assist, and assist I will until my final rust-racked day. For my name is Perry – punctuality is built into my frame. I cannot be influenced by anything more that you may have to say; it is not my game.” Inching forward, making contact head to belly, crown to rigid, cold-steel siding; diesel pistons thrumming, water humming churning to froth, molecules rapidly colliding. The brutal, hundred-ton course once so strong, unyielding, and forthright now bends to the fruit of the effort, to the will of an underdog’s might. Another passing gull cries: “If one were to measure worth, would one count this of the grunty little grit or the aloofness of the steely-blue girth.” Matters not thinks Perry, though he mentions it not out loud: “Of which is more important – The vastness of the ocean or the fragility of a cloud?” For both are compulsory in the sustenance of all living things. To order one the more grand, ‘twould be the silliest of schemings.

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Perry and Empire

‘Twas but a mist-enshrouded speckle dark-painted on looming horizon. Petty worker holds unwavering watch, silently, stealthily keeps his eyes on. Forward motion undeniable, each passing minute size increasing. Small heart stands alert and viable – beating fast and tremulous; though, never ever ceasing. Moments reveal stark, unyielding visage so confident, assured, and smug; so grand in glory, so traveled, so worldly, laced in comment and compliment, so unlike our humble tug. Steely vessel stays its resolute course – deliverance of goods and fare its compensated victory. Tugboat sighs in the witness of the linear bulk - so heavily adorned in commercial livery. Gull passes low. Crying for what no mind can know, much less announce. A distraction that reminds no one here is tied by moorings, is secured by mounts. A tentative thrust is sputtered into the immensity of the saltwater bay. A test, an assurance of propulsion, some gesture, a semblance in making the smallest of headway. For surely it is his job to steer this myopic, shore-bound lug – a princely assignment for one so parochial as a six-legged bug. The behemoth is nigh, motion slowing, heading stupid; grand in size, demeanor, and experience - with steering as impotent as an arrow-less cupid. Stoic eyes peer down to the struggling, focused underling: “My name is Empire, it is written on my side. Surely, yours is not an important thing.” “You may be mighty and experienced and even handsome in a funny, indefinable way but I was created to assist, and assist I will until my final rust-racked day. For my name is Perry – punctuality is built into my frame. I cannot be influenced by anything more that you may have to say; it is not my game.” Inching forward, making contact head to belly, crown to rigid, cold-steel siding; diesel pistons thrumming, water humming churning to froth, molecules rapidly colliding. The brutal, hundred-ton course once so strong, unyielding, and forthright now bends to the fruit of the effort, to the will of an underdog’s might. Another passing gull cries: “If one were to measure worth, would one count this of the grunty little grit or the aloofness of the steely-blue girth.” Matters not thinks Perry, though he mentions it not out loud: “Of which is more important – The vastness of the ocean or the fragility of a cloud?” For both are compulsory in the sustenance of all living things. To order one the more grand, ‘twould be the silliest of schemings.