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 Man, my crakhead uncle snorin’ in the hallway, sound like he fightin’ a freight train at 2 a.m. That’s nothing… my uncle stole my sneakers, hung ‘em on the fire escape like they flags of defeat. Pfft, sneakers? I take home extra lunches from school, ‘cause my stomach don’t know if dinner’s even showin’ up tonight. Extra lunches? I been eatin’ peanut butter straight from the jar, mama workin’ four jobs, ain’t nobody home to check if I’m alive. Four jobs? Mine works… somewhere… but locks the door on me, says I can’t be trusted alone. I’m standin’ outside knockin’ like a ghost in my own house. Ghost? Ha! My sister’s runnin’ off with every corner boy on the block, leavin’ me lookin’ like a fool. Lookin’ like a fool? I walk miles to school, rain or shine, shoes so busted I leave puddle footprints like I’m makin’ art. Art? I got homework eaten by the dog, teacher said, “Well… at least he tried.” Tried? I cried in the corner, then laughed so nobody knew. See? That’s it. We cry, we eat cold cereal, get locked out, but we still laughin’. Even when life wildin’ on us like Friday night on the block. Yeah… humour’s the only thing that don’t get stolen, don’t get eaten, don’t get locked out. Laughin’ keeps us alive. The world can hit, knock, break, confuse… but we still clown. We still breathe. Humour? That’s survival.
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