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 Your Rain was tears on my window pane - the first poem of yours I had seen - pain-drops spattered a snow-blank expanse, grief-blue with regret and what should have been. I thought mediocre. Bad omen for you. You who attempted to pour the blue, to quench the amber arid air and quell the mithering mistral. I needed that oasis: sea spray words to drown a desert of parched poetics. Hints at a darkness beneath. Hieroglyphic glints. A calligraphic trance-dance of pen. I was struck by that and, later, struck by so much more. Black dagger words. Your chirography slash-slanting, stabbing the page like little knives - transfixing, somebody said. Trance-fixing. I was entranced by you. You gave me an art-effigy: your failed book that bled its heart in pink and red and shed the blood gobbets of brutalised childhood. I saw: Pictures of Silence crying for blue, weeping for water, and demanding more water-pour from every pore. Just months before, the future fanned out in mystical tarot predicting long-distance love: the tower tumbling, and the chariot hauling two hundred miles across country, coast to coast. We were falling through a chasm of long-distance words, falling in love, and both of us knew. Passion so intense it made each finger a flame as we sweated fever-beads in a burning bed in a sizzle-tangle of gold thread bedspread in a room that cracked like kindling. I understood little of your Beds Are Burning but heard its furnace-roar of trauma as you recoiled from wound-raw red and reached for Aquarian blue-cool, the page giving voice to the child who had no voice, no choice; words bursting to blaze in our flamery. Court Green evergreen, grieving under thatch, and the slatted sun warming moss-skin on old corpse walls; the mouths of corpses suckling dark roots in earth heavy and thick with omen. You were away God-knew-where while I sweltered in the burning bronze of hot North Tawton sun, and sweated over stagnant, stilted stanzas. That end-of-summer was stagnant. A thick silage pall shrouding land and the spilled puce guts of blackberries rotting sadly in hedgerows. We floundered and foundered, deaf ears tuned to your father's coffin-creak, blind eyes turned to the gothic yew rising and presiding, its spire stabbing sky. Too many battles fought for too long - both the blood-scrapping external ones and the even bloodier internal ones. Language shards lodged in shrapnel sentences when words were all that remained like blood spots on the floor: poetry's stigmata, hot clots of our heated exchange, gunshots in a word-war where there could be no victor - just us, together-apart and alone with our heart-art.
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