Home » Poems » Poetry Art » Poetry Art / Greeting Card Maker

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.

Text
Layout
Background

Enter Title (Not Required)

Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required
Domestic sounds from the kitchen below creep under the bedroom door and I scamper, teeth a’ chatter, across the bedroom floor. Out of the bedroom and across the landing, down the stairs I clatter, Mother calls from the kitchen and asks, "Whatever is the matter?" "I'm freezing cold", I answer, passing the kitchen at a pace, "Has dad lit the fire?" I ask in hope, as into the lounge I race. The glow of the fire draws me as I stand in its heat and bake on a rag rug made by mother, which took ten weeks to make. I curl my toes in its tactile warmth as the shivers slowly subside, my heat flushed cheeks glow apple red, in contrast to my cold backside. I turn around and warm my back 'til my front feels cold again, then back I turn to warm my front 'til mother breaks the chain. Arriving from the kitchen with tea and hot, buttered toast, I pull the chair up to the fire to give my toes a roast. "Wrap up warm if you're going out," mum says as she pours the tea, "and no going near that frozen pond, or you'll be the death of me." I give her empty promises I know I cannot keep and try to reassure her by saying, “The snow is much too deep”. A hand knitted balaclava is pulled tight around my head and, in the absence of gloves, as mittens, old socks are used instead. With trousers tucked in wellies and wearing my old duffle coat, I venture forth on a sea of white - a solitary boat in search of other sailors, adrift in this pristine sea, in search of bold adventure - but back in time for tea.

Enter Author Name (Not Required)

Move Text:

Heading Text

Color:

Main/Poem Text

Color:

Background Position Alignment:
LeftCenterRight | TopCenterBottom

Tall Bkgds
Wide Bkgds

Upload Image:

Fit to HeightFit to Width

10mb max file size

Use Internet Image:

Fit to HeightFit to Width

Like: https://www.poetrysoup.com/images/ce_Finnaly_home_soare.jpg

Layout: TallShort

www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry

A Fall of Snow In the Fifties Part 2

Domestic sounds from the kitchen below creep under the bedroom door and I scamper, teeth a’ chatter, across the bedroom floor. Out of the bedroom and across the landing, down the stairs I clatter, Mother calls from the kitchen and asks, "Whatever is the matter?" "I'm freezing cold", I answer, passing the kitchen at a pace, "Has dad lit the fire?" I ask in hope, as into the lounge I race. The glow of the fire draws me as I stand in its heat and bake on a rag rug made by mother, which took ten weeks to make. I curl my toes in its tactile warmth as the shivers slowly subside, my heat flushed cheeks glow apple red, in contrast to my cold backside. I turn around and warm my back 'til my front feels cold again, then back I turn to warm my front 'til mother breaks the chain. Arriving from the kitchen with tea and hot, buttered toast, I pull the chair up to the fire to give my toes a roast. "Wrap up warm if you're going out," mum says as she pours the tea, "and no going near that frozen pond, or you'll be the death of me." I give her empty promises I know I cannot keep and try to reassure her by saying, “The snow is much too deep”. A hand knitted balaclava is pulled tight around my head and, in the absence of gloves, as mittens, old socks are used instead. With trousers tucked in wellies and wearing my old duffle coat, I venture forth on a sea of white - a solitary boat in search of other sailors, adrift in this pristine sea, in search of bold adventure - but back in time for tea.