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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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Success is not a Capitalist Cheat nor an Old Whore that seduces the innocent Away from the door of Freedom Good Fortune is not a mere happenstance that unfairly favors the Wealthy It is the rain of daily sunlight Into the upstretched palms Of the embittered man Who can't take one drop more Of the sewage he calls Capitalism... But I understand... When one has lived too long in the day He may appear to forget the howls And wails Of those whose only light has become the moon Because they never see the Sun Because they are at work From the time before the Sun gets up, Until after the time He goes down... These are the night-possessed Whose only hope is to transform the world Into peat for the fire And to burn it down... But then we would all be were-wolves -- There will no-one left to be meat, And we will hunger More than before... At least let some be sheep Who will play the Sacred Lambs And be food For the poor, Heart-broken wolves Who starve in the stick-like forests, Devoid of happy hopes Who light the fires And burn the very forest Down around them Hoping for warmth Until there is no fuel But only Cold Ash What was once a World Is now become A nuclear terror A winter of the heart Where selfish men Hand out sandwiches -- Hundreds! -- Without any meat Between the bread... Poor wolves! Skin stretched, Ribs sticking out. I would care for them And feed them All their lives If I could And let them write poetry And tend The Holy Garden, Made Holy by a rain Of clean sweat Shed under the Sun! But I have only my blood to give... Fine then! I will bleed That they might not hunger Whom the world Has treated poorly... Only I can bleed Only so many days Till I am dead... Poor wolves! Poor world! Upon whom Shines only the Cold And selfish moon Sent to stretch their shapes Into eternal suffering... We had best have a beginning again That nurtures the Earth And plants new trees And teaches the now-silver wolves To eat fruit Again! But only a happy dance Only a happy dance Will save them free, Will save them free, Will save them free, Till Victory Shines down And they drink from the puddles Of golden light From the puddles of golden light And transform into men Again!

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For Rrrabbits In Wolves' Clothing

Success is not a Capitalist Cheat nor an Old Whore that seduces the innocent Away from the door of Freedom Good Fortune is not a mere happenstance that unfairly favors the Wealthy It is the rain of daily sunlight Into the upstretched palms Of the embittered man Who can't take one drop more Of the sewage he calls Capitalism... But I understand... When one has lived too long in the day He may appear to forget the howls And wails Of those whose only light has become the moon Because they never see the Sun Because they are at work From the time before the Sun gets up, Until after the time He goes down... These are the night-possessed Whose only hope is to transform the world Into peat for the fire And to burn it down... But then we would all be were-wolves -- There will no-one left to be meat, And we will hunger More than before... At least let some be sheep Who will play the Sacred Lambs And be food For the poor, Heart-broken wolves Who starve in the stick-like forests, Devoid of happy hopes Who light the fires And burn the very forest Down around them Hoping for warmth Until there is no fuel But only Cold Ash What was once a World Is now become A nuclear terror A winter of the heart Where selfish men Hand out sandwiches -- Hundreds! -- Without any meat Between the bread... Poor wolves! Skin stretched, Ribs sticking out. I would care for them And feed them All their lives If I could And let them write poetry And tend The Holy Garden, Made Holy by a rain Of clean sweat Shed under the Sun! But I have only my blood to give... Fine then! I will bleed That they might not hunger Whom the world Has treated poorly... Only I can bleed Only so many days Till I am dead... Poor wolves! Poor world! Upon whom Shines only the Cold And selfish moon Sent to stretch their shapes Into eternal suffering... We had best have a beginning again That nurtures the Earth And plants new trees And teaches the now-silver wolves To eat fruit Again! But only a happy dance Only a happy dance Will save them free, Will save them free, Will save them free, Till Victory Shines down And they drink from the puddles Of golden light From the puddles of golden light And transform into men Again!