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 “Other Worlds They have not Lived” Writers, and poets, just like musicians feel they have the pulse of things, it’s an arrogance that declares I know, so much more than you, I know of such things, so much better than you. I have lived more of a life, I have a deeper capacity to feel. The reader watches the dance, and thinks - no, no you don’t know better than I, nor would you ever want to. There is a lightness in the limerick a joie de vivre innocent, macabre or satire, but underneath the undertow there rises more mysterious darker things that lift you up towards some luminocity, even if one exists stagnant in the in-between - their words like lines cast, make your heart swell and like an ocean they pull you back in. You'd gladly drown in their verbosity. To write the story one must live, to write the story one must read, to read, one must concede, there are other worlds one has never lived, nor will ever live. (LadyLabyrinth / 2023) “While he writes, I feel as if he is drawing me; or not drawing me, drawing on me-- drawing on my skin-- not with the pencil he is using, but with an old-fashioned goose pen, and not with the quill end but with the feather end. As if hundreds of butterflies have settled all over my face, and are softly opening and closing their wings. But underneath that is another feeling, a feeling of being wide-eyed awake and watchful. It's like being wakened suddenly in the middle of the night, by a hand over your face, and you sit up with your heart going fast, and no one is there. And underneath that is another feeling still, a feeling like being torn open; not like a body of flesh, it is not painful as such, but like a peach; and not even torn open, but ripe and splitting open of its own accord. And inside the peach there's a stone.” ("Alias Grace"/Margaret Atwood)
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