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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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This was last Christmas - 39 days ago - doesn’t that seem like ancient history? We were in Lisa’s (parent’s) 50th floor flat, in Manhattan. It was mid-morning, we’d done the present thing, and it was coffee time. At 42°, the city was surprisingly warm, drizzly, and the weather service had issued a dense fog alert. I had wanted a white Christmas and there it was, about 20 stories below us, a vast, dense, whipped cream sea of white stretching off into the holiday. The fog's surface wrinkled gently in places, revealing glimpses of the Hudson River, like an artist's fleeting brushstrokes. The pea soup brume undulated, like lava or a living thing and reflected the murderous morning sun like a mirror, making it klieg-light bright. Glare gives me headaches, so I had to avoid looking at it. Lisa (one of my college roommates), her little (14-year-old) sister Leeza and I were spread out, under beige, vicuña throws, on one angle of their huge, white sectional couch and Lisa’s grandparents were nestled on the other. A ‘Style Council’ playlist was playing on the room's sound system. Leeza had picked it - it was a great groove. When “The Story of Someone’s Shoe’ ended, Lisa said. “That song’s so beautiful, honestly, it’s really lovely.” “On God,” I agreed, (I’d introduced Leeza to ‘the Style Council’ last fall). When Leeza said, “I forced you guys to like it, and now you do,” I just rolled my eyes. “Well, your taste is usually so awful,” Lisa pointed out. “My taste doesn’t need targeting here,” Leeza said defensively. We all had our tech out - we young-ins were on our laptops; the grandparents were deep into their phones. “I need to pick an elective,” I said, scrolling through the class catalog, “any ideas?” “I took psyc 275 last term,” Lisa offered. “Learn anything interesting?” I asked. “Well, apparently Freud’s mom was hot,” Lisa said, distractedly focused on her laptop. “Texas Republicans are banning books about menstruation,” Lisa reported, a moment later, “because who does THAT anymore?” “Women are getting ƒuçked-on by Republicans,” Leeza pronounced, and her grandma flinched as if slapped. “Revelations,” I agreed. “We’re definitely getting ƒuçked-on by republicans,” Lisa updogged, while stretching. “I think Republicans are the American Taliban,” Leeza pronounced, as if she spoke for all of Gen-Z. “It’s a continuous topic on campus,” Lisa acknowledged. “I’m not ON campus,” Leeza reminded us. For a hot minute, no one said anything.. then. “This is just my year, of, like, realizing stuff,” Leeza said. “Oh, she’s realizing stuff,” Lisa moaned in fake sympathy. “Her tenets are forming,” I commented dryly, like a news reporter. “A year of realizing.” Leeza reiterated urgently, like that was forEVER. Then, refocusing on her laptop, she said, “I’m picking a song!” and ‘Water’ by ‘Tyla’ began playing. Our solitude is always set to music.

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Popping off

This was last Christmas - 39 days ago - doesn’t that seem like ancient history? We were in Lisa’s (parent’s) 50th floor flat, in Manhattan. It was mid-morning, we’d done the present thing, and it was coffee time. At 42°, the city was surprisingly warm, drizzly, and the weather service had issued a dense fog alert. I had wanted a white Christmas and there it was, about 20 stories below us, a vast, dense, whipped cream sea of white stretching off into the holiday. The fog's surface wrinkled gently in places, revealing glimpses of the Hudson River, like an artist's fleeting brushstrokes. The pea soup brume undulated, like lava or a living thing and reflected the murderous morning sun like a mirror, making it klieg-light bright. Glare gives me headaches, so I had to avoid looking at it. Lisa (one of my college roommates), her little (14-year-old) sister Leeza and I were spread out, under beige, vicuña throws, on one angle of their huge, white sectional couch and Lisa’s grandparents were nestled on the other. A ‘Style Council’ playlist was playing on the room's sound system. Leeza had picked it - it was a great groove. When “The Story of Someone’s Shoe’ ended, Lisa said. “That song’s so beautiful, honestly, it’s really lovely.” “On God,” I agreed, (I’d introduced Leeza to ‘the Style Council’ last fall). When Leeza said, “I forced you guys to like it, and now you do,” I just rolled my eyes. “Well, your taste is usually so awful,” Lisa pointed out. “My taste doesn’t need targeting here,” Leeza said defensively. We all had our tech out - we young-ins were on our laptops; the grandparents were deep into their phones. “I need to pick an elective,” I said, scrolling through the class catalog, “any ideas?” “I took psyc 275 last term,” Lisa offered. “Learn anything interesting?” I asked. “Well, apparently Freud’s mom was hot,” Lisa said, distractedly focused on her laptop. “Texas Republicans are banning books about menstruation,” Lisa reported, a moment later, “because who does THAT anymore?” “Women are getting ƒuçked-on by Republicans,” Leeza pronounced, and her grandma flinched as if slapped. “Revelations,” I agreed. “We’re definitely getting ƒuçked-on by republicans,” Lisa updogged, while stretching. “I think Republicans are the American Taliban,” Leeza pronounced, as if she spoke for all of Gen-Z. “It’s a continuous topic on campus,” Lisa acknowledged. “I’m not ON campus,” Leeza reminded us. For a hot minute, no one said anything.. then. “This is just my year, of, like, realizing stuff,” Leeza said. “Oh, she’s realizing stuff,” Lisa moaned in fake sympathy. “Her tenets are forming,” I commented dryly, like a news reporter. “A year of realizing.” Leeza reiterated urgently, like that was forEVER. Then, refocusing on her laptop, she said, “I’m picking a song!” and ‘Water’ by ‘Tyla’ began playing. Our solitude is always set to music.