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 The frost is on the fodder now, a killing blight of cold. We have crossed the river—gray, wide— to reach the place where stories are retold leaving the iron winter at the door. Here the bin is full, the fire bright we shut the night out with a single latch. Praise the humble things that make a feast the paper-skinned onion dissolved and gone the invisible labor—the greatest and the least the butter loosening into liquid sun. We praise the sweetness pulled from stubborn ground the heavy pumpkin, copper-fleshed, profound. For the world begins and ends upon this wood this scarred old table where the ghosts draw near. My grandmother's hands, translucent in the steam pass the bowl of something not quite here. We carve the bird, dry, sacrificial meat and blend our strange new spices with the sweet. Bless the throat that swallows, the lung's slow tide the cedar shingles holding back the rain the kneading hands gone numb with repetition those small liturgies we gather against the pain. For even in the shadows or the fear we set a place for everyone not here. The Pilgrims crouched beside their starving fires while Haudenosaunee blessed the Three Sisters' yield their hungers haunt this feast like iron in the water undrinkable, essential, in the field. The mist has lifted. The honest work is done. We taste the generations in gingered slice. So praise for what breaks open and stays broken for sight, for blindness, for the space between for this abrading, necessary evening for everyone we've harmed and cannot heal. The world forgets itself here, then remembers autumn spills its copper into winter's palms. We will not wait for loss to teach us dying. The harvest of the heart, the gathered store we pay the simple, heavy human price of loving what we have and asking nothing more. Not grateful for our goodness, but for breaking together in this blood-warm, breathing place. We are the fruit returning earth, becoming sun.
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