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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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required While I'm reading a poem about it on the previous page the girls come over to visit their boyfriends and dance in high shoes and perfume. Their legs are strong and their voices high. And the guys get high and hard thinking about what the girls are like behind their eyes. That says more about me than reality. And it's exactly four lines. Ken Patchen would say his angel smells sweet and sassy. I feel the bony fingers of mine who has been working to stay alive. Enough small poetry. One must conceive of a project-- say a poem about a bridge--or stop writing and instead walk over the bridge at sunset and see the city in a nuclear war the clocks, the Watchtower and the docks gone and no smoke. I still exist but I'm late for my job. I'm dressed well in honor of true love and Spring which both outlast the holocaust. The manager cans me with the cold hard eyes of one who accepts the rules entirely. Goodbye to the rows of dead metal desks and goodbye to those who can take it longer than I. The guys downstairs do not read poetry and very little prose. The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money does not occupy their minds. The sex pistils of the mountain daisy is no concern of theirs and the man upstairs who plays the horn is less than a curiosity but makes more noise. When I feel like this nothing matters and this is good-- get warm with wine, turn out the lights and turn up the radio-- if only there were a woman who liked the down and out life too. In the end someone sticks a gun in my face in the South Bronx. How I got among the fire escapes in the sooty alley I cannot say but it is one of my earliest memories. Perhaps it is my grandmother holding my hand or one of the clowns. I say Drop that goddamn gun and he blows me away.
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