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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’m cooking these words on the stove, hoping they won’t burn— but they burst into flames, fierce with laser focus, only to be choked on when spoon-fed, and regurgitated when swallowed. served like fast food— empty calories filling the gaps meant to comfort, to reorder. part of the standard American diet. words on a bun, piled high with all the fixings, a digested impact crater, in the pit of our gut. politicians try them on like shoes— until they fit, but seldom do. words written to fall off the paper’s edge, into the echo chamber of insincerity. instead, they carve them into stone— only to shatter when dropped. formulated words to soothe, to numb pain. thoughts folded into paper prayers, thrown skyward. officials toss them high, a solemn beacon of fortitude. but the touch of a dead child shoots them as skeet. bullets spoken as words, spat out with ease, surrender to normalcy— just another American day. --- **2** an errant boy, garden hose in hand, sprays the clouds full as mourners careen to pay respects to his family. words, drenched in sorrow, are washed away by the cloudburst. the open umbrellas amplify the drops into a steady drum beat, as they hit, roll, and vanish. --- **3** Ashai cradles a red plastic ball, her palms hoping to find its role. meant to roll, to wander, to tumble, perhaps even fly through the air in play— but it’s too hard to bounce, too light to throw. small worries, circle before settling, inside her pretend world. --- **4** the chevron-blue lake draws an outline along the water’s edge, a loneliness floats on its water mattress, bobbing the loons into calling for solitude before it reaches us all. shivering leaves rustle signalling the night breeze whispering warnings of another cloud spill by the garden hose.

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Volcabulary of the Dead

i’m cooking these words on the stove, hoping they won’t burn— but they burst into flames, fierce with laser focus, only to be choked on when spoon-fed, and regurgitated when swallowed. served like fast food— empty calories filling the gaps meant to comfort, to reorder. part of the standard American diet. words on a bun, piled high with all the fixings, a digested impact crater, in the pit of our gut. politicians try them on like shoes— until they fit, but seldom do. words written to fall off the paper’s edge, into the echo chamber of insincerity. instead, they carve them into stone— only to shatter when dropped. formulated words to soothe, to numb pain. thoughts folded into paper prayers, thrown skyward. officials toss them high, a solemn beacon of fortitude. but the touch of a dead child shoots them as skeet. bullets spoken as words, spat out with ease, surrender to normalcy— just another American day. --- **2** an errant boy, garden hose in hand, sprays the clouds full as mourners careen to pay respects to his family. words, drenched in sorrow, are washed away by the cloudburst. the open umbrellas amplify the drops into a steady drum beat, as they hit, roll, and vanish. --- **3** Ashai cradles a red plastic ball, her palms hoping to find its role. meant to roll, to wander, to tumble, perhaps even fly through the air in play— but it’s too hard to bounce, too light to throw. small worries, circle before settling, inside her pretend world. --- **4** the chevron-blue lake draws an outline along the water’s edge, a loneliness floats on its water mattress, bobbing the loons into calling for solitude before it reaches us all. shivering leaves rustle signalling the night breeze whispering warnings of another cloud spill by the garden hose.