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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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I go online so I can see my sales, how many books did I move in the night? These projects that I gave six whole months to, the stories that give meaning to my life. But the bar is low, sometimes it’s not there, nobody much cared what I had to say, these characters who have lived in my head are unwanted, most hope they go away. When I’ve seen people who have half my skill write a bestseller it makes me see red, unappreciated in my own time, perhaps I’ll be famous after I’m dead? I write a poem that speaks to the heart, craft the rhyme and flow to move perfectly, something that requires a lot more work than those writers who prefer their verse ‘free.’ Put it online so others can partake, hope what I say might just stick in their minds, but come next morning my readers are few, I’m lucky if one comment I can find. There ain’t much demand for poetic types, for emotions that are rhythmically said, but maybe they’ll read it far down the line, maybe I’ll be famous after I’m dead. I look at all of these famous writers, how few of them lived it up while breathing, Kakfa was nuts, Dickinson was insane, old Bob Howard was surly and brooding. Even the ones who found recognition weren’t exactly living the free and clear, Tolsoty couldn’t keep his marriage intact, Hemmingway’s fame couldn’t fight back his fears. We all dream of setting folks’ minds aflame, of selling millions and rolling in bread, but that’s the exception, all we can hope is to become famous after we’re dead. It makes a man wonder why he does this, since there are much easier jobs out there, is the creative urge worth the effort when it so impacts our financial cares? If all of the appreciation that we can expects comes when we’re in the grave, is the price of our own satisfaction worth the hours of working like a slave? To create something nobody asks for, ro silence that nagging urge in our heads? While knowing the best that I can hope for is to become famous after I’m dead? Eh, who am I kidding with this. You’ll forget my name before you finish reading this poem. You have, haven’t you?
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