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
Considering how many times I set out to pen a small, Master piece of art, a gem that might underwrite, The utter liability of being just that stamp, Or tramp, or whatever other denomination one might reliably take into use, To put me in some camp, By way of classifying the contingent being -me- Whose eagerness presently strives to present Himself as himself as truthfully as Truth writ large, In terms, of course, both endearing, flattering and “brutally honest”, (Which, parenthetically, is what my soon to be deceased ex-step-mother-in-law once Said, Would be the way she would have to describe some of My more salient character flaws) To you my reader, my chosen few, my undeniably very few chosen few, As a being in the here and now, As living flesh and burning spirit, As a man of substance and substantial capacity To transmit radiant rays of thoughts, That reside, quite Evidently, And in no doubt to some degree by Providence, Within an interior space- MySpace- where nothing gets elbowed around- Nor for that matter ever gets liked, commented upon, shared, Or, even worse, put at risk of going viral- For this is after all an authentic space, Not a virtual race to create a face, Nor a terrific place to leave a cyberlinear trace But a true mental galaxy, An individual-wide web of self-associating neurons, Where all and everything is self-made and dependent upon Nothing more, Than a small light switch which I alone am the master of- This then will indeed be far from the grandeur of the art I imagined. Therefore my fair friend I humbly ask, With hand on heart, Notwithstanding those fingers so inclined to be bent and crossed, And hat in hand (That would be the other hand) For your forgiveness and forbearance And do solemnly promise to get this little ritual over with As fast as a cat on a motor scooter- Which is an image I kind of like by the way Because it reminds me of Sally, The old toothless Steinbeckian woman who lived alone above the basement apartment, A dank little hole I might add, Back in 1992, Where my ex-wife, now an Artist, used to live in a snotty little town called Westport. Sally uttered those timely words With a Cheshirean grin to boot her point home Because her landlords were kicking her out Not only for going sour apple on three months rent But for being a rotten apple to begin with in a part of the world Where only Golden apples were entitled to reside. Sally had to get the hell out. Faster than a cat on a motor scooter. Oh toothless rootless Sally how I celebrate you! Hardly a master of your own destiny You were at least a Masterful speaker Unlike those marginal creeps, Mr. and Mrs. Somebodyimportant, Whose sharp noses wedged you out Of their little cash crop cottage And who no doubt live comfortably This very day In some vaulted tomb under Floridian myakka While you My little friend Are but dust in the wind. With that aside now put aside I now commence To end quickly this brief debriefing And by way of Introduction Will only add the most necessary details to conclude What urgently needs to be concluded as rapidly as possible, Faster even, To paraphrase our heroine in modern idiom, Then a cat going global on youtube. However, One important detail to get over with, A small but relevant Fact of the matter, Is confessional by nature: I hate introductions because they do In fact Matter Under the unique circumstances Which with bated breath and increasing alarm I have come to recognize As not only necessary But obligatory To outline In a way- Um…. How do I say this?- That will not only defy The very conceptual idea Of brevity But defy it in such a way As to peel its meaning down To its very atomic anti-structure Semantically speaking Which is to say, Apologetically, That brevity in my hands -Drum roll please- Is brevity in geological time. Why you ask? My reader, I suffer from nothing less Then a syndrome, Unique upon this earth- (Oh wretched wretched earth you are!) Unique among all earthlings, (With some note-worthy exceptions among Those posturing, lumbering humanoids called writers) And certainly unique among all rational creatures (Who Nature by way of de-evolution has so endearingly Immunized against MyDisease by way of social nurture And social constructions that protect humanity’s bloodline from madness), Called- In proper taxonomic terms- “Ican’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingeizer’s Disease”

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

An Introduction: An Introduction

Considering how many times I set out to pen a small, Master piece of art, a gem that might underwrite, The utter liability of being just that stamp, Or tramp, or whatever other denomination one might reliably take into use, To put me in some camp, By way of classifying the contingent being -me- Whose eagerness presently strives to present Himself as himself as truthfully as Truth writ large, In terms, of course, both endearing, flattering and “brutally honest”, (Which, parenthetically, is what my soon to be deceased ex-step-mother-in-law once Said, Would be the way she would have to describe some of My more salient character flaws) To you my reader, my chosen few, my undeniably very few chosen few, As a being in the here and now, As living flesh and burning spirit, As a man of substance and substantial capacity To transmit radiant rays of thoughts, That reside, quite Evidently, And in no doubt to some degree by Providence, Within an interior space- MySpace- where nothing gets elbowed around- Nor for that matter ever gets liked, commented upon, shared, Or, even worse, put at risk of going viral- For this is after all an authentic space, Not a virtual race to create a face, Nor a terrific place to leave a cyberlinear trace But a true mental galaxy, An individual-wide web of self-associating neurons, Where all and everything is self-made and dependent upon Nothing more, Than a small light switch which I alone am the master of- This then will indeed be far from the grandeur of the art I imagined. Therefore my fair friend I humbly ask, With hand on heart, Notwithstanding those fingers so inclined to be bent and crossed, And hat in hand (That would be the other hand) For your forgiveness and forbearance And do solemnly promise to get this little ritual over with As fast as a cat on a motor scooter- Which is an image I kind of like by the way Because it reminds me of Sally, The old toothless Steinbeckian woman who lived alone above the basement apartment, A dank little hole I might add, Back in 1992, Where my ex-wife, now an Artist, used to live in a snotty little town called Westport. Sally uttered those timely words With a Cheshirean grin to boot her point home Because her landlords were kicking her out Not only for going sour apple on three months rent But for being a rotten apple to begin with in a part of the world Where only Golden apples were entitled to reside. Sally had to get the hell out. Faster than a cat on a motor scooter. Oh toothless rootless Sally how I celebrate you! Hardly a master of your own destiny You were at least a Masterful speaker Unlike those marginal creeps, Mr. and Mrs. Somebodyimportant, Whose sharp noses wedged you out Of their little cash crop cottage And who no doubt live comfortably This very day In some vaulted tomb under Floridian myakka While you My little friend Are but dust in the wind. With that aside now put aside I now commence To end quickly this brief debriefing And by way of Introduction Will only add the most necessary details to conclude What urgently needs to be concluded as rapidly as possible, Faster even, To paraphrase our heroine in modern idiom, Then a cat going global on youtube. However, One important detail to get over with, A small but relevant Fact of the matter, Is confessional by nature: I hate introductions because they do In fact Matter Under the unique circumstances Which with bated breath and increasing alarm I have come to recognize As not only necessary But obligatory To outline In a way- Um…. How do I say this?- That will not only defy The very conceptual idea Of brevity But defy it in such a way As to peel its meaning down To its very atomic anti-structure Semantically speaking Which is to say, Apologetically, That brevity in my hands -Drum roll please- Is brevity in geological time. Why you ask? My reader, I suffer from nothing less Then a syndrome, Unique upon this earth- (Oh wretched wretched earth you are!) Unique among all earthlings, (With some note-worthy exceptions among Those posturing, lumbering humanoids called writers) And certainly unique among all rational creatures (Who Nature by way of de-evolution has so endearingly Immunized against MyDisease by way of social nurture And social constructions that protect humanity’s bloodline from madness), Called- In proper taxonomic terms- “Ican’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingeizer’s Disease”

Book: Reflection on the Important Things