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.
Enter Title (Not Required)
Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I’ve seen black sheep set in Pongola grass Within pallid seas, differed, Like black buttons on a white cotton suit; Sheep are color blind. A bee is fine-looking, But there’s fire in its ass. Can the wild goat trust The adder with inviting pelt? Did Emmitt Till paint changes With his blood in cotton picking towns; The blood that called from Mississippi, Like Abel’s blood calling from the ground. Death had a voice, a voice in the wind, The wind that walked north-west And brought a microscope For John Public to see How inferior to dogs we are. As a child, I played Ring-around-the-roses Until I saw “Rosewood” And heard the drums Beaten like Rodney King, And the heartbeat of Cojoe And Nanny racing Towards the mountain of the devil, To escape the cotton fields. The drums are always talking. The old south is alive and kicking high. This is no Elvis tale. Exhume the body, See with your own eyeballs. No DNA can confirm That Jim Crow is dead. Jim Crow has a roost on Fox News. He’s always crowing, Whipped up by the “boy” In the WHITE house. How much can you see If you look from the outside? I’ve seen it even in REM sleep, Even when I dream of roasted breadfruit, Jockato in coconut milk, and Chinese geisha; Willie Lynch is a man breathing The smog-filled air in Washington. In 1955, Money was the root of the evil, And ’68 Memphis was the cross Of the sacrificial lamb, But these days men are lynched In broad day light. String up, dangling Like papa's khakis floating In breeze walking the orange glen. All eyes should see our opinion of them. Today we’re civilize, And Catholicism is not voodoo. We no longer use rope, Our tongues do a fine job. Like Mutabaruka, I have no color problem; Everything is black to me, As black as Sarah’s view of the motherland (It’s not too vital for her to learn). If blue skies Cried acid, And wash the dark color From this portrait, I would still be black, As black as tar. It’s in my blood.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)