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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www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry
Malimar
Inhaling, hushed, from hashed cigars my mind implodes in Malimar where Naiads bathe in caviar - I dream of dwarves and three-eyed tsars. The captive kiss of Princess Mars (who talks in tongues at seminars) burns red beyond Her blue boudoir - I writhe within Her pale peignoir. Her Maids gloss lips with cinnabar, bedizen cheeks in dusts that mar, serve teas beside the reservoir - I sip them from a samovar. Disguised in smoke and lamps of spar Her Genies gender gold dinars, evoking flames in ginger jars - I plea before the Commissar. At Princess’ neighbourhood bazaar, white shadows slip through doors ajar to drape my dreams in ash and char - I long await the Avatar. Her Merchants (preening, proud Hussars) paint pretty scenes on VCR’s while sailing ships to Zanzibar - I strum the strings of warped sitars. Her Prophets sometimes cruise in cars else while at each and every bar to speak of space and time bizarre - I pass my pride for small pourboires. Her Necromancers trace in tar tall tales of wisdom flung afar, transported by the Registrars - I hitchhike on their handlebars. Her seers conjure repertoires where She and I are on a par in infinite surreal memoirs - I sometimes sense the void is ours. My Princess never sees the scars cut by Her whispered “au revoirs” - I often wake to ask ‘who are these Gods that sail the distant stars?’
Copyright © 2021 Terry O'Leary. All Rights Reserved