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
What I Did For Art
You want to know its merits? Very well, then. Daylight slants deliciously across the boy's inclined, thoughtful face. His lace collar, crumpled, houses valleys of shadow. Or what about the Water Seller? Look at that poncho's warm woven woollen texture: and isn't the rip in the shoulder fun? And the dimples on the pot! They scream "potness" at us. Or the beads of water clinging to the larger vessel, whose horizontal striations practically smell of the potter's wheel. But oh, that drinking-glass! Does it seem possible to you that unctuous oils and minerals of earth, gouged from the soil, can render the ethereal soul of glass? It was a winter afternoon. I'd gone along to the gallery on the off-chance. Standing before this marvel, I found myself entranced. But even as I gazed, the sun (though never very confident in London) stepped out coyly from behind a cloud. Duck's-egg orange light, resplendent, now fell aslant the canvas. Surely this was harmful? Sunlight bleaches (does it not?) the colour out of things. Alarm bells should be ringing. I summoned a uniform attendant. He nodded sagely as I explained - but did nothing. Why should he care? Minimum wage is no great motivator. An hour from now, he'd be hanging up that peaked cap, and be a person until Monday. No point in bursting a blood-vessel over a silly painting. Later. But I couldn't leave it. If I stood just thus, my human frame was just enough to block the sun. One little skirmish could be won if I remained here until the sun’s trajectory was done, or the gallery closed, whichever came the sooner. So I did. On tip-toe, spine inclined, quiet, I crowded out the light of day for more than an hour. Pointless, you say. I can't deny it. The very next day, And each subsequent foray of Phoebus would merely recreate the problem. That's hardly the point. Finding myself there, I beat my ploughshare into a sword and, for that tiny slice of time, I made the sacrifice, bore the quizzical looks with equanimity, quirky, standing like a turkey on tenterhooks and saved the painting.
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