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 what do you call it when a chica’s dreams melt faster than the piragua man’s ice on a July Harlem block? when sweetness drips down brown fingers, but the city never tastes it right? what do you call it when they call you spicy — like it’s a compliment or a curse — when you’re just tryna argue your piece on the tenement stoop where your mami’s voice still echoes out the third-floor window? what do you call it when the block party DJ drops salsa into hip-hop and the boys battle for bragging rights and your heart, but you know better — you know your name is more than chica, more than spice, more than a rumor shouted through the summer fire hydrant spray? what do you call it — this Nuyorican pulse that hums in the cracks of Harlem sidewalks, beats its drum in your ribs, and dares every deferred dream to dance, anyway? what do you call it when a chica’s dreams melt faster than the piragua man’s ice on a July Harlem block? when sweetness drips down brown fingers, but the city never tastes it right? what do you call it when they call you spicy — like it’s a compliment or a curse — when you’re just tryna argue your piece on the tenement stoop where your mami’s voice still echoes out the third-floor window? what do you call it when the block party DJ drops salsa into hip-hop and the boys battle for bragging rights and your heart, but you know better — you know your name is more than chica, more than spice, more than a rumor shouted through the summer fire hydrant spray? what do you call it — this Nuyorican pulse that hums in the cracks of Harlem sidewalks, beats its drum in your ribs, and dares every deferred dream to dance, anyway?
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