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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.

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There are three of them, Cinderella siblings: shapely, deciduous, their leafy green darkness undulating in the specter wind, its silent snare drum emulating heartbeats in syncopated symmetry. "Take us, Take us, Don't stop!" say the sisters, moving as deliriously as a woman beneath her lover, while their stripped- down stepsister, one on one, spells out stillness in inelastic nudity. Wind shears through her, unconstricted by skeletal shapeliness. Nothing to arrange here by the coiffeur wind in the pared-down beauty of brittle lace- work, if lacework be brittle. One nest rests halfway up on a slender limb, a single stem supports its phantom occupants, imagined, their ravenous snapper beaks -- landlocked shark-lings, all minuscule jaws, learning to prey under their mother's bellies -- inhabiting a denuded nest, awaiting a spring of speckled eggs, cracking the silent thunder of shells, to free those of gaping mouths, who know nothing of being born, just that they hunger and someone comes they do not name as mother: She of the dependable providence. For now, there are no newborns, only a feather; feather, feather, whether or not, provenance unknown, caught in a branch far from origin like us, trapped in our casings of skin: softness pinioned in lacework of limb; ragged, if lacework be ragged. Here, where the sisters have been to the Salon, come back as frowsy as ever, but groomed somewhat, from a blow dry and a cut.

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Some Cannot Praise the Wind

There are three of them, Cinderella siblings: shapely, deciduous, their leafy green darkness undulating in the specter wind, its silent snare drum emulating heartbeats in syncopated symmetry. "Take us, Take us, Don't stop!" say the sisters, moving as deliriously as a woman beneath her lover, while their stripped- down stepsister, one on one, spells out stillness in inelastic nudity. Wind shears through her, unconstricted by skeletal shapeliness. Nothing to arrange here by the coiffeur wind in the pared-down beauty of brittle lace- work, if lacework be brittle. One nest rests halfway up on a slender limb, a single stem supports its phantom occupants, imagined, their ravenous snapper beaks -- landlocked shark-lings, all minuscule jaws, learning to prey under their mother's bellies -- inhabiting a denuded nest, awaiting a spring of speckled eggs, cracking the silent thunder of shells, to free those of gaping mouths, who know nothing of being born, just that they hunger and someone comes they do not name as mother: She of the dependable providence. For now, there are no newborns, only a feather; feather, feather, whether or not, provenance unknown, caught in a branch far from origin like us, trapped in our casings of skin: softness pinioned in lacework of limb; ragged, if lacework be ragged. Here, where the sisters have been to the Salon, come back as frowsy as ever, but groomed somewhat, from a blow dry and a cut.