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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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Sixty years have passed. No one knew how to spell its name. No one knew when it first opened. It was forever, like the infernal summer heat. It stands indelible at the end of my street, at the end of my episodic hippocampus. Everyone congregated at this cozy corner store, this neighborhood fount for stories, jokes, convenient food and cheap toys. There were only a few shoplifters, usually snarky boys slightly older than me. They were never caught. The guy behind the counter never caught anything he didn’t want to see. Perhaps the store’s namesake, he worked slavishly, anxiously alone. One frantic day, he spotted vomit on the floor. Bolting into the backroom, He returned with mop and pail only to find the mess entirely missing. Snickering, snarky boys hid their latex toy. A harmless prank, some would say. But somehow, in my tenth year I felt sorrow for the overworked man. Nothing ever changed. It all lingered like the infernal summer heat, the gripping stillness of eternal summer. This neurotransmitter of neighborly connections, This hub of gab and gossip, Home to my first financial transactions, Home to penny candy, bubblegum cards, and Mars bars. Home to grape soda, Twinkies, and Wonder Bread. No one knew how to spell its name. No one knew when it permanently closed. But the potent sugar-coated flashbacks have lengthened my life.

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Theeby's

Sixty years have passed. No one knew how to spell its name. No one knew when it first opened. It was forever, like the infernal summer heat. It stands indelible at the end of my street, at the end of my episodic hippocampus. Everyone congregated at this cozy corner store, this neighborhood fount for stories, jokes, convenient food and cheap toys. There were only a few shoplifters, usually snarky boys slightly older than me. They were never caught. The guy behind the counter never caught anything he didn’t want to see. Perhaps the store’s namesake, he worked slavishly, anxiously alone. One frantic day, he spotted vomit on the floor. Bolting into the backroom, He returned with mop and pail only to find the mess entirely missing. Snickering, snarky boys hid their latex toy. A harmless prank, some would say. But somehow, in my tenth year I felt sorrow for the overworked man. Nothing ever changed. It all lingered like the infernal summer heat, the gripping stillness of eternal summer. This neurotransmitter of neighborly connections, This hub of gab and gossip, Home to my first financial transactions, Home to penny candy, bubblegum cards, and Mars bars. Home to grape soda, Twinkies, and Wonder Bread. No one knew how to spell its name. No one knew when it permanently closed. But the potent sugar-coated flashbacks have lengthened my life.