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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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With fascist fist, white CHAUVINist (whose christian name is Drek) hailed pearly Knights in Kevlar tights who spurn the ebon fleck, and joined the Kops enforcing stops which keep black pawns in check. Floyd feared the Kops (most drenched in drops that racial rules distill), so long confined, entrapped, entwined in whitewashed webs until he drew the straw that lured the law: a twenty dollar bill for cigs he bought (no ’twasn’t pot) while at the corner store and when he left, they called it theft at which he turned and swore, strode to his car (which wasn’t far), to meet the nevermore. The Kops arrived and chaos thrived as justice was deployed: patellas pressed, ’gainst neck and chest (which Chauvin so enjoyed) - as Floyd lay cuffed, like candles snuffed his light of life waxed void. A knee to neck? Yeah, what the heck, when forced to come to grips with someone prone that fate has flown within a wind, who quips “Please, I can’t breathe”… those words still seethe that labored past his lips. With windpipe crushed, through time unrushed (eight minutes last so long), Floyd’s face seemed bent with eyes intent, and Chauvin’s smile was strong; with bated breath of pending death, a chill chased through the throng. Well Drek knelt proud before the crowd (no need of secrecy) for, being copped, Floyd’s breathing stopped, while knuckled neath the knee. Yes, poor old Floyd had been destroyed – “Mamaaa...” his final plea. Epitaph A single soul... but on the whole, Floyd’s death’s a metaphor of crush and shove, by those above, until we breathe no more, with twisted faces, lacking graces, pressed upon the floor. As with attacks against the blacks and others, be they poor we’re never told the manifold of deaths within this war - we’ll bumble blind until we find just what we’re mourning for. The ruling class perverts, alas, the press, like wanton whore, to dupe, misguide and wholly hide that septic social sore engulfing us in putrid pus that’s oozing from its core. Without a clue as what to do, we’re thralled as heretofore, but nonetheless with due finesse, there’s plenty to restore: the common good and brotherhood, world peace for evermore. We must embrace the human race, its oneness not ignore - so for our part let’s make a start with each hand on an oar, as mainsails swing to finally bring the freedom ship to shore.

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Ku Kops Klan

With fascist fist, white CHAUVINist (whose christian name is Drek) hailed pearly Knights in Kevlar tights who spurn the ebon fleck, and joined the Kops enforcing stops which keep black pawns in check. Floyd feared the Kops (most drenched in drops that racial rules distill), so long confined, entrapped, entwined in whitewashed webs until he drew the straw that lured the law: a twenty dollar bill for cigs he bought (no ’twasn’t pot) while at the corner store and when he left, they called it theft at which he turned and swore, strode to his car (which wasn’t far), to meet the nevermore. The Kops arrived and chaos thrived as justice was deployed: patellas pressed, ’gainst neck and chest (which Chauvin so enjoyed) - as Floyd lay cuffed, like candles snuffed his light of life waxed void. A knee to neck? Yeah, what the heck, when forced to come to grips with someone prone that fate has flown within a wind, who quips “Please, I can’t breathe”… those words still seethe that labored past his lips. With windpipe crushed, through time unrushed (eight minutes last so long), Floyd’s face seemed bent with eyes intent, and Chauvin’s smile was strong; with bated breath of pending death, a chill chased through the throng. Well Drek knelt proud before the crowd (no need of secrecy) for, being copped, Floyd’s breathing stopped, while knuckled neath the knee. Yes, poor old Floyd had been destroyed – “Mamaaa...” his final plea. Epitaph A single soul... but on the whole, Floyd’s death’s a metaphor of crush and shove, by those above, until we breathe no more, with twisted faces, lacking graces, pressed upon the floor. As with attacks against the blacks and others, be they poor we’re never told the manifold of deaths within this war - we’ll bumble blind until we find just what we’re mourning for. The ruling class perverts, alas, the press, like wanton whore, to dupe, misguide and wholly hide that septic social sore engulfing us in putrid pus that’s oozing from its core. Without a clue as what to do, we’re thralled as heretofore, but nonetheless with due finesse, there’s plenty to restore: the common good and brotherhood, world peace for evermore. We must embrace the human race, its oneness not ignore - so for our part let’s make a start with each hand on an oar, as mainsails swing to finally bring the freedom ship to shore.