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 the photo graphic, 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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The Morning of the Hurricanes Part 1
The Bishops bathe in Babylon while Princes, prancing on the lawn, watch Queen deflowered, pale and wan. The King dares not defend her. The Horsemen, holding broken reins the Morning of the Hurricanes, sigh “it’s no use, it’s all in vain, the Saints will soon surrender”. They wonder why they ever came, they have No One whom they can blame, they have no face, they have no name, and even less, a gender. The empty-handed Vagabonds smoke stale cigars, stroke faded Blondes while waiting at the walls beyond, but kneel as Chaos enters. They’re gazing through the window panes in hopes that distant Hurricanes will twist and break their iron chains defying life’s tormentors. The Fantom of the Opera frowns as feeble minded Cleric-clowns mouth hollow hurdy-gurdy sounds when blessing doomed dissenters. The Pirate wields a wooden leg, with pupils dull and visage vague, and if by chance he spreads the plague, it really doesn’t matter. His Princess, pale, no longer feigns, foresees instead (down ancient lanes) the coming of the Hurricanes - the Stones stir, staring at her. And Jackals scrape the river bed as Savants soothe the underfed and Crows, collecting scattered bread, adorn, with crumbs, the platter. The Jokers Wild and One Eyed Janes weep, winding up in rundown trains mid whispers of the Hurricanes, and Priests refuse to christen. They’re fleeing from the Leprechauns, the cuckoo birds, the dying swans; while pitching pennies into ponds their eyes opaquely glisten. The spectral Clocks with spindled spokes remind the Mimes to tell the Folks the time of day and other jokes, yet No One looks to listen. The Hunchbacks with contorted canes galumph before the Hurricanes, in melted sleet, in frozen rains, in bruised and battered sandals. Their Groans engulf the land of gulls, the land of stones, the land of nulls, and lurk between the blackened lulls, for Nighttime brooks no candles. Their prayers to Dogs and Nuns and Dukes, (and other long forgotten Spooks) are more than random crazed rebukes, though taunting to the Vandals. Continued in Part 2
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