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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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My father hauled a dead sea turtle from a beach in the Florida Keys he coveted that shell. I was not allowed to watch, but I tried to see my father over the dunes sand spurs in my feet I pushed upward over gentle curves of sand to see the gutting of that sea turtle wondering how life was removed. Flies everywhere, do they kettle or simply swarm over death? I did not know I was too young. The angles of my father’s wrist — he held the knife his bones and tendons rippling under his skin cutting, and cutting scraping flesh from shell finalizing death. My father worked for hours in the Florida sun I watched, and watch to understand this man, I’d never seen so violent and destructive. My father never divorced my mother, but she left him, he left her the chaotic kettling cycle of a relationship: One would return, then the other only to repeat: leave – return – leave… cutting words sharp angular words. That shell hung on our wall for years seeming to decay with the marriage. There were no hills of sand to hide behind, only hollow doors no sand spurs to remind me that I had feelings no sounds of the ocean or seagulls to cover the gutting. I sold that shell to a neighbor kid for fifty cents. Previously published by Headline Poetry & Press 2019

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The Gutting

My father hauled a dead sea turtle from a beach in the Florida Keys he coveted that shell. I was not allowed to watch, but I tried to see my father over the dunes sand spurs in my feet I pushed upward over gentle curves of sand to see the gutting of that sea turtle wondering how life was removed. Flies everywhere, do they kettle or simply swarm over death? I did not know I was too young. The angles of my father’s wrist — he held the knife his bones and tendons rippling under his skin cutting, and cutting scraping flesh from shell finalizing death. My father worked for hours in the Florida sun I watched, and watch to understand this man, I’d never seen so violent and destructive. My father never divorced my mother, but she left him, he left her the chaotic kettling cycle of a relationship: One would return, then the other only to repeat: leave – return – leave… cutting words sharp angular words. That shell hung on our wall for years seeming to decay with the marriage. There were no hills of sand to hide behind, only hollow doors no sand spurs to remind me that I had feelings no sounds of the ocean or seagulls to cover the gutting. I sold that shell to a neighbor kid for fifty cents. Previously published by Headline Poetry & Press 2019