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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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I saw Bianca. One glance, and the eyes might believe she was a queen, but her beauty was borrowed — purchased in pieces, stitched together with coins and illusions. Her hair, long and flowing, was taken from the head of an old woman who died alone with a mind in ruin. It now sits like a crown of foreign spirits on the head of a daughter who has forgotten her own roots. Her nails — sharpened like the talons of a hunting hawk — painted gold-pink, cost more than a village can eat in a week. Her skin wears thirty-five different potions, each bottle worth more than a farmer’s harvest. Her lips, painted in the red of ripe mango, cost more than the milk a child cries for. Her brows are shaved bare, only to be drawn again in black lines, like a map to nowhere. Her lashes are heavy with glue and feathers that block the eyes from telling the truth. She walked towards us, her hips swaying like a river reed in the wind. My mother’s voice was low: "Would you marry her, my son?" I answered, "When the paint is washed, when the borrowed hair is gone, when the ornaments are stripped away, then I will see her true face. For now, she is a mask." On my left, my father whispered, "My son, such women are a lifetime debt. If she wears Brazilian hair while she is African, then it is wiser to go to Brazil and marry the one whose head grew it. Why pay the price for a shadow when the sun still shines on the real?" Beauty that is bought will fade with the receipt. But beauty that is grown from the soil of the soul will last beyond the grave.

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Synthetic Beauty

I saw Bianca. One glance, and the eyes might believe she was a queen, but her beauty was borrowed — purchased in pieces, stitched together with coins and illusions. Her hair, long and flowing, was taken from the head of an old woman who died alone with a mind in ruin. It now sits like a crown of foreign spirits on the head of a daughter who has forgotten her own roots. Her nails — sharpened like the talons of a hunting hawk — painted gold-pink, cost more than a village can eat in a week. Her skin wears thirty-five different potions, each bottle worth more than a farmer’s harvest. Her lips, painted in the red of ripe mango, cost more than the milk a child cries for. Her brows are shaved bare, only to be drawn again in black lines, like a map to nowhere. Her lashes are heavy with glue and feathers that block the eyes from telling the truth. She walked towards us, her hips swaying like a river reed in the wind. My mother’s voice was low: "Would you marry her, my son?" I answered, "When the paint is washed, when the borrowed hair is gone, when the ornaments are stripped away, then I will see her true face. For now, she is a mask." On my left, my father whispered, "My son, such women are a lifetime debt. If she wears Brazilian hair while she is African, then it is wiser to go to Brazil and marry the one whose head grew it. Why pay the price for a shadow when the sun still shines on the real?" Beauty that is bought will fade with the receipt. But beauty that is grown from the soil of the soul will last beyond the grave.