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 In the village the rooster crows at noon because morning has been postponed. The sun sits on a crate behind the store, smoking, waiting for instructions. Woe to us, says the old woman who sells candles shaped like saints. She lights one for justice, but it drips sideways and sets fire to the price list. In the town hall they have a machine that washes words. You put in “theft,” it returns “adjustment.” You put in “hunger,” it returns “diet.” The mayor smiles with newly laundered verbs. Last week they buried a lie with full honors. The priest cleared his throat and called it “a complicated truth.” The choir sang softly so the dirt would not feel accused. I went to the river. It was carrying empty bottles and one small mirror. I looked into it and saw my own mouth rehearsing agreement. Woe to that mouth, I said, and the fish scattered like punctuation. At night the cows kneel in the field. They know something about gravity. They chew darkness patiently. They do not rename the grass. In the bakery, bread rises beautifully. It smells of childhood and policy. You break it open and a thin dust escapes, like a parliament of flour voting itself white. Woe to the clever ones who weigh the wind and invoice the horizon. Woe to the rest of us who clap because the echo is warm. But under the shed, in a cracked bucket, a seed has begun its stubborn prayer. No committee approved it. No slogan protected it. It split itself in two without asking what to call the dark. Call evil evil, says the rooster again, late, hoarse, magnificent. Call good good, before the dictionary grows teeth and eats the field. Morning will not attend meetings. It will simply arrive, mud on its boots, and stand in the yard until we recognize it.
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