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 Our oldest light goes by the name cosmic microwave background radiation— CMB for short. She's everywhere: fluorescent birdsong of modern offices, hum of corner store ice cream cases. Have you heard of her? This gal was born screaming into freedom from the expansion of a bang so big we're still talking about it. Expelled from the recombination's gender- less cervix, before there were names for things like body, or heat, or quiet. She slid through the pitch of first dark, not yet sure what edges were, dragging the weight of a beginning behind, shelter for and shedding of photons loosened from a fire she didn't start. Somewhere in this thirteen-billion-year drift her lips kissed the eyelids of stars that hadn’t learned to die yet, passed the chubby fists of planets still cooling in their cribs. Fell into gravity wells, bent her spine around a gape of black holes, and climbed back up again, tired but full. We call her background now, like she's an afterthought, the hum of hums beneath the humming—we call her 'it'. Add a T to her beginning and we might as well call her mother. And when she reaches us, frail and stretched thin, we catch her in our instruments (where we found her), our desperate, outstretched hands. For our effort, like a good genie enduring a bad rub, she tells the story of our origin from a certain point— then distracts us with tricks when we ask her about the end of it.
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