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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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Hall Of Blank Portraits To my father, I paint you as the sea, Ebbing and flowing In my memory. Drifting in the doldrums Immortal and serene, Sleeping forever In blues and green, I sit on the shore And dip my feet, Fearing your portrait Will remain incomplete. To my mother, I sketch you in chalk, Across a torn canvas Where my demons walk, Every brushstroke Dusty and smudged, Devoid of the colours You have always begrudged, I kneel in the nothingness Cold and dank, Praying your portrait Will always remain blank. To my wife I paint a pastiche, The detail and shading A masterpiece, Some of the hues I will need to borrow From the darker years And the times of sorrow, Today I blend them Into the colours of your face, Tomorrow your portrait Will take pride of place. To my son I create a collage, An abstract of shapes You can sabotage, Rearranging the pieces In the chaos of your mind, Forming some kind of sense From the images you find, I watch you methodically Cut and paste, Your portrait will never Be worked on in haste. To my daughter, I colour in pastel shades, Subtle white lace And multicoloured brocades, Basking in the sunlight That lights up your face Where you'll always pretend You're in a better place, I stand on the edge, Distant and alone, Your portrait is only one I will never own. To my siblings, I draw you as trees, Rigid in stature, Defying the breeze, The roots are tangled In crumbling rock, The branches separate Where they should interlock, I stand in the forest Alone and lost Selling your portraits At little or no cost. To my friends, I etch you in gold So the creases that define you Can never unfold, The plaque will be small But the lines true, The faces I will polish Will be but a few, I reflect in the image Blurred and a folly, I will frame your portraits With melancholy. To my lovers, I depict you weeping, Washed in watercolours Bleeding and seeping, And on your tears I will always sip As off the parchment You slowly drip, I will mop your faces Until the paper is dry, I will keep your portraits Until I die. To my life I charcoal in greys, Layer upon layer For the rest of my days, Eventually the blackness Of sadness and rage Will become solid layers On a liquid page, I will live in my comfort zone In an empty hall Hanging blank portraits On a forgotten wall.

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Hall of Blank Portraits

Hall Of Blank Portraits To my father, I paint you as the sea, Ebbing and flowing In my memory. Drifting in the doldrums Immortal and serene, Sleeping forever In blues and green, I sit on the shore And dip my feet, Fearing your portrait Will remain incomplete. To my mother, I sketch you in chalk, Across a torn canvas Where my demons walk, Every brushstroke Dusty and smudged, Devoid of the colours You have always begrudged, I kneel in the nothingness Cold and dank, Praying your portrait Will always remain blank. To my wife I paint a pastiche, The detail and shading A masterpiece, Some of the hues I will need to borrow From the darker years And the times of sorrow, Today I blend them Into the colours of your face, Tomorrow your portrait Will take pride of place. To my son I create a collage, An abstract of shapes You can sabotage, Rearranging the pieces In the chaos of your mind, Forming some kind of sense From the images you find, I watch you methodically Cut and paste, Your portrait will never Be worked on in haste. To my daughter, I colour in pastel shades, Subtle white lace And multicoloured brocades, Basking in the sunlight That lights up your face Where you'll always pretend You're in a better place, I stand on the edge, Distant and alone, Your portrait is only one I will never own. To my siblings, I draw you as trees, Rigid in stature, Defying the breeze, The roots are tangled In crumbling rock, The branches separate Where they should interlock, I stand in the forest Alone and lost Selling your portraits At little or no cost. To my friends, I etch you in gold So the creases that define you Can never unfold, The plaque will be small But the lines true, The faces I will polish Will be but a few, I reflect in the image Blurred and a folly, I will frame your portraits With melancholy. To my lovers, I depict you weeping, Washed in watercolours Bleeding and seeping, And on your tears I will always sip As off the parchment You slowly drip, I will mop your faces Until the paper is dry, I will keep your portraits Until I die. To my life I charcoal in greys, Layer upon layer For the rest of my days, Eventually the blackness Of sadness and rage Will become solid layers On a liquid page, I will live in my comfort zone In an empty hall Hanging blank portraits On a forgotten wall.