Home » Poems » Poetry Art » Poetry Art / Greeting Card Maker

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.

Text
Layout
Background

Enter Title (Not Required)

Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required
This harpie with dry red curls talked openly of her husband, his impotence, his death, the death of her lover, the birth and death of her own beauty. She stared into the mirror next to our table littered with the wreck of her appetite and groaned: Look what you've done to me! as though only that moment she'd discovered her own face. Look, and she shoved the burden of her ruin on the waiter. I do not believe in sorrow; it is not American. At 8,000 feet the towns of this blond valley smoke like the thin pipes of the Chinese, and I go higher where the air is clean, thin, and the underside of light is clearer than the light. Above the tree line the pines crowd below like moments of the past and on above the snow line the cold underside of my arm, the half in shadow, sweats with fear as though it lay along the edge of revelation. And so my mind closes around a square oil can crushed on the road one morning, startled it was not the usual cat. If a crow had come out of the air to choose its entrails could I have laughed? If eagles formed now in the shocked vegetation of my sight would they be friendly? I can hear their wings lifting them down, the feathers tipped with red dust, that dust which even here I taste, having eaten it all these years.

Enter Author Name (Not Required)

Move Text:

Heading Text

Color:

Main/Poem Text

Color:

Background Position Alignment:
LeftCenterRight | TopCenterBottom

Tall Bkgds
Wide Bkgds

Upload Image:

Fit to HeightFit to Width

10mb max file size

Use Internet Image:

Fit to HeightFit to Width

Like: https://www.poetrysoup.com/images/ce_Finnaly_home_soare.jpg

Layout: TallShort

www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry

Red Dust

This harpie with dry red curls
talked openly of her husband,
his impotence, his death, the death
of her lover, the birth and death
of her own beauty.
She stared
into the mirror next to
our table littered with the wreck
of her appetite and groaned:
Look what you've done to me!
as though only that moment
she'd discovered her own face.

Look, and she shoved the burden
of her ruin on the waiter.

I do not believe in sorrow;
it is not American.

At 8,000 feet the towns
of this blond valley smoke
like the thin pipes of the Chinese,
and I go higher where the air
is clean, thin, and the underside
of light is clearer than the light.

Above the tree line the pines
crowd below like moments of the past
and on above the snow line
the cold underside of my arm,
the half in shadow, sweats with fear
as though it lay along the edge
of revelation.

And so my mind closes around
a square oil can crushed on the road
one morning, startled it was not
the usual cat.
If a crow
had come out of the air to choose
its entrails could I have laughed?
If eagles formed now in the
shocked vegetation of my sight
would they be friendly? I can hear
their wings lifting them down, the feathers
tipped with red dust, that dust which
even here I taste, having eaten it
all these years.

Written by: Philip Levine

Book: Reflection on the Important Things