Home » Poems » Poetry Art » Poetry Art / Greeting Card Maker

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.

Text
Layout
Background

Enter Title (Not Required)

Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required
In this house so ominous, I did hear a hiss. What could it in this, alone in house and room. It was a sound of a crack, like shivers go down the back. There it is again, a low-lying sound of gloom, “Tis anyone out there,” I mumbled in utter gloom. I hope not my doom. In these times of coldness and snow showers, what could it be at this hour not resting I assume. Whatever spirit I hope fair, removing myself from this chair. “Who is out there,” opening the door as if a tomb, nothing but an empty hallway, not a door to a tomb. I will not think of whom. I go back to my chair in front of the fireplace, grabbing a fire poker just in case it were to resume. My mind wondering around, 'what could make that sound?' In the quietness I hear a pound, as if it were a boom, I curl up in the chair, 'from where did I hear this boom?' Maybe a joker in costume. I stare at the burning embers and I do ignore, is something at the door, not to fear I shakingly presume. I will never again sleep, so along the pathway I creep. Tensely I crept to the door, “my body this room will not entomb,” If I do not look, then my body will forever be in my mind entomb. No one here but a wooden broom. How can I go on in a small area living like this, staring at the one I do miss, I can still smell her perfume. The scent does fill my nose, like only she could and knows. Her body at rest and I will not be the one to exhume, although it shall be my body that by morrow one does exhume. For me no flower will bloom. Out of the side of my eye, in the corner is a snake, that could rattle one awake, and could startle a groom. “What is it that you seek? I am very old and meek.” In the mist I do see something, it is a smokey plume, forming a man, it is getting clearer this once hazy plume. “Who is it, I ask whom?” Then at once I see the ghostly image is me, but how can this be, is this my fate and final doom? “This just cannot be the end, for I have no time to mend.” If so take me, take me out of this wretched room, I will feel no more fear, once out of this wretched room. But this place is forever my tomb.

Enter Author Name (Not Required)

Move Text:

Heading Text

Color:

Main/Poem Text

Color:

Layout: TallShort

www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry

My Room Forever More

In this house so ominous, I did hear a hiss. What could it in this, alone in house and room. It was a sound of a crack, like shivers go down the back. There it is again, a low-lying sound of gloom, “Tis anyone out there,” I mumbled in utter gloom. I hope not my doom. In these times of coldness and snow showers, what could it be at this hour not resting I assume. Whatever spirit I hope fair, removing myself from this chair. “Who is out there,” opening the door as if a tomb, nothing but an empty hallway, not a door to a tomb. I will not think of whom. I go back to my chair in front of the fireplace, grabbing a fire poker just in case it were to resume. My mind wondering around, 'what could make that sound?' In the quietness I hear a pound, as if it were a boom, I curl up in the chair, 'from where did I hear this boom?' Maybe a joker in costume. I stare at the burning embers and I do ignore, is something at the door, not to fear I shakingly presume. I will never again sleep, so along the pathway I creep. Tensely I crept to the door, “my body this room will not entomb,” If I do not look, then my body will forever be in my mind entomb. No one here but a wooden broom. How can I go on in a small area living like this, staring at the one I do miss, I can still smell her perfume. The scent does fill my nose, like only she could and knows. Her body at rest and I will not be the one to exhume, although it shall be my body that by morrow one does exhume. For me no flower will bloom. Out of the side of my eye, in the corner is a snake, that could rattle one awake, and could startle a groom. “What is it that you seek? I am very old and meek.” In the mist I do see something, it is a smokey plume, forming a man, it is getting clearer this once hazy plume. “Who is it, I ask whom?” Then at once I see the ghostly image is me, but how can this be, is this my fate and final doom? “This just cannot be the end, for I have no time to mend.” If so take me, take me out of this wretched room, I will feel no more fear, once out of this wretched room. But this place is forever my tomb.