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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Afterglow
Afterglow by Michael R. Burch for Beth The night is full of stars. Which still exist? Before time ends, perhaps one day we’ll know. For now I hold your fingers to my lips and feel their pulse ... warm, palpable and slow ... once slow to match this reckless spark in me, this moon in ceaseless orbit I became, compelled by wilder gravity to flee night’s universe of suns, for one pale flame ... for one pale flame that seemed to signify the Zodiac of all, the meaning of Love’s wandering flight past Neptune. Now to lie in dawning recognition is enough ... enough each night to bask in you, to know the face of love ... eyes closed ... its afterglow. The Insurrection of Sighs by Michael R. Burch She was my Shiloh, my Gethsemane; she nestled my head to her breast and breathed upon my insensate lips the fierce benedictions of her ubiquitous sighs, the veiled allegations of her disconsolate tears . . . Many years I abided the agile assaults of her flesh . . . She loved me the most when I was most sorely pressed; she undressed with delight for her ministrations when all I needed was a good night’s rest . . . She anointed my lips with her soft lips’ dews; the insurrection of sighs left me fallen, distressed, at her elegant heel. I felt the hard iron, the cold steel, in her words and I knew: the terrible arrow showed through my conscripted flesh. The sun in retreat left her victor and all was Night. The last peal of surrender went sinking and dying—unheard. Star Crossed by Michael R. Burch Remember— night is not like day; the stars are closer than they seem ... now, bending near, they seem to say the morning sun was merely a dream ember. The State of the Art (?) by Michael R. Burch Has rhyme lost all its reason and rhythm, renascence? Are sonnets out of season and poems but poor pretense? Are poets lacking fire, their words too trite and forced? What happened to desire? Has passion been coerced? Shall poetry fade slowly, like Latin, to past tense? Are the bards too high and holy, or their readers merely dense?
Copyright © 2024 Michael Burch. All Rights Reserved

Book: Shattered Sighs