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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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"The Returning" Inside us all a strange forest where light and dark are fed to us by curious creatures, their unexpected gods in thoughts and deeds joy and fear hate and love belief and disbelief inwards our dreams turn to The Returning a place we think we’ve never been we drift inwards facing ghosts the demons in our learning, for nourishing or easily burning incinerating visions that seem too real our thoughts rule over heart, the logical and illogical upstarts when eyes are open to “It” all, in the waking moments of our Life, we become philosophical some, say outright with incredulous indignation, “get on with it” "face facts”, avoiding the persistent message in their dreams Myopia turns its tight-lipped cheek "my good woman", or "my good man", it decrees “you’re living in ... another world”, this much is true, I think... the flying monkeys in their high chairs further screech, “dreams are not real - they are just stupid dreams” yet, if heart and mind were to consort as one, as they must, in that ephemeral realm of contrivance - one and the same they remain cohorts merged never the two apart joyfully lacking competitive territorial licence the devil's in those details perhaps through dreams we eventually remember The Returning is from the start One and the same never apart we would see and understand there prevails such an odd place where strange beings only exist in its core in light and love a perpetual state of grace there is no rich, no poor no hate, no crime no restricting law for there, you see, outside the dark, Light is seen for what it is, Lux Vitae Love is the Law we commune in strange ways the verses that we sing and speak perhaps we are envelopes of madness perhaps, we think too much - in relentless risky poetry - and fly to walls to perch like Southern Boobooks that have lost their call in flight, escapes a silent voice, echoing mangled memories considered small in mind unable and inadequate to sing upon awaking from our addled dreams our thoughts alone, return to The Returning for in our thoughts it is closer than we care to dream there are answers that our questions need, so we lie down again to sleep to dream to unwrap through our imagining without blood and water skin and bone what is the hidden creed to be found elusive in our dreams? do we search for home every dream we bleed, or are we to convert sensibly the point of it all the place that always disappears before it's reached? shrouded, sitting in the central seat, commanding all our dreams the one we wake, before we meet we are the dreamers we sleep deep in the dream to dream to meet what is meant to be met in the presence of those other beings one among many more real, than is real that strange dimension some consider fantasy perhaps it's in this world outside what isn't real we live in our dreams our life is but a dream, nightmares and dreams surreal The Returning calls us ever forward inward and perplexed between heart and thought to what sits centre stage priceless, unable to be bought It is real extraordinary outside all what we've been taught the heart provides more than food for thought (LadyLabyrinth/2022) lux vitae “Memory Gospel” / Moby https://youtu.be/uyjnkn-HkJc "And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep..." Southern Boobook.

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The Returning

"The Returning" Inside us all a strange forest where light and dark are fed to us by curious creatures, their unexpected gods in thoughts and deeds joy and fear hate and love belief and disbelief inwards our dreams turn to The Returning a place we think we’ve never been we drift inwards facing ghosts the demons in our learning, for nourishing or easily burning incinerating visions that seem too real our thoughts rule over heart, the logical and illogical upstarts when eyes are open to “It” all, in the waking moments of our Life, we become philosophical some, say outright with incredulous indignation, “get on with it” "face facts”, avoiding the persistent message in their dreams Myopia turns its tight-lipped cheek "my good woman", or "my good man", it decrees “you’re living in ... another world”, this much is true, I think... the flying monkeys in their high chairs further screech, “dreams are not real - they are just stupid dreams” yet, if heart and mind were to consort as one, as they must, in that ephemeral realm of contrivance - one and the same they remain cohorts merged never the two apart joyfully lacking competitive territorial licence the devil's in those details perhaps through dreams we eventually remember The Returning is from the start One and the same never apart we would see and understand there prevails such an odd place where strange beings only exist in its core in light and love a perpetual state of grace there is no rich, no poor no hate, no crime no restricting law for there, you see, outside the dark, Light is seen for what it is, Lux Vitae Love is the Law we commune in strange ways the verses that we sing and speak perhaps we are envelopes of madness perhaps, we think too much - in relentless risky poetry - and fly to walls to perch like Southern Boobooks that have lost their call in flight, escapes a silent voice, echoing mangled memories considered small in mind unable and inadequate to sing upon awaking from our addled dreams our thoughts alone, return to The Returning for in our thoughts it is closer than we care to dream there are answers that our questions need, so we lie down again to sleep to dream to unwrap through our imagining without blood and water skin and bone what is the hidden creed to be found elusive in our dreams? do we search for home every dream we bleed, or are we to convert sensibly the point of it all the place that always disappears before it's reached? shrouded, sitting in the central seat, commanding all our dreams the one we wake, before we meet we are the dreamers we sleep deep in the dream to dream to meet what is meant to be met in the presence of those other beings one among many more real, than is real that strange dimension some consider fantasy perhaps it's in this world outside what isn't real we live in our dreams our life is but a dream, nightmares and dreams surreal The Returning calls us ever forward inward and perplexed between heart and thought to what sits centre stage priceless, unable to be bought It is real extraordinary outside all what we've been taught the heart provides more than food for thought (LadyLabyrinth/2022) lux vitae “Memory Gospel” / Moby https://youtu.be/uyjnkn-HkJc "And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep..." Southern Boobook.