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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www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry
A Good Sense Of Humour Blunts The Sharp Blades Of Reality
Written: July 28, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg Quote: "Be full of sorrow, that you may become a hill of joy; weep, that you may break into laughter. The core of the seen and unseen universe smiles, but remember, smiles come best from those who weep." By Rumi ***************** When dyspnea clutches akin to a windless room, and sorrow presses heavily— not merely on the chest, but deep within the scaffold of thoughts— humor, once a fleeting spark, ignites as flint striking steel, a miraculous glimmer emerges amidst the thick fog. In this existence pain is not scarce, but laughter— a lodestone, crafted from flapdoodle tales. and Falstaffian bravado— serves as a balm, not just a distraction, but nepenthe: a sacred numbness with edges that still remember. My life—a palimpsest, inscribed in soot and raw chances— finds footnotes in folly, each chuckle is a testament to courage. I, the steward of fractured hours, have traded tears for joy, and emerged from despair, not through denial, but through the iconoclast’s grin— a fissure in the facade that adumbrates hope. Time becomes horology without hands. When humor wanes— a sockdolager silence where even the apiary hums with mockery I feel a sense of nostalgia. I have been that yokel stone-faced in the storm, my mirth marooned, my jokes are stifled—lost in illeism, I refer to myself. as if I were no longer mine. But even scantling joy can host a grand feast: a pun, a parody, a nefarious, mischievous chuckle at the universe’s absurdity. Among my peers, We wear humor akin to armor— not to conceal, but to celebrate. To declare, we acknowledge the weight, and we bear it, with smiles so sharp, they slice clean, through gargantuan calamity.
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