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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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Do random thoughts and scattered conversation deserve to be a poem? I think a lot of things like that as I drive from work to home. All day I've tried, and struggled to make sense of all I heard in a futile attempt to celebrate the opening signs of Spring. I sense old Lao Tzu giggling at my naïve zeal to impose a form on random thoughts and scattered conversations that don't deserve to be a poem. I bought flowers for the secretary the first thing at work this morn and yet, I have to think if the day would be much different if I'd marked it not at all. Good Confucians, we name the seasons, Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall. We note each one's passing and that may be our fatal flaw. We want to feel we have control of all that we survey. From Stonehenge to the present we crave to know the way the planets continue on their course, no matter what we say. But, if somehow we have a name we fill ourselves with pride, so Spring today will appear at precisely eleven fifty-five. With that nailed down for this year, and of course we know the next, we appear to give good order to all the random thoughts and scattered conversations that fall in the spaces between. Without these benchmarks we'd surely live in Lao Tzu's formless reality.

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Do random thoughts and scattered conversation deserve to be a poem? I think a lot of things like that as I drive from work to home. All day I've tried, and struggled to make sense of all I heard in a futile attempt to celebrate the opening signs of Spring. I sense old Lao Tzu giggling at my naïve zeal to impose a form on random thoughts and scattered conversations that don't deserve to be a poem. I bought flowers for the secretary the first thing at work this morn and yet, I have to think if the day would be much different if I'd marked it not at all. Good Confucians, we name the seasons, Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall. We note each one's passing and that may be our fatal flaw. We want to feel we have control of all that we survey. From Stonehenge to the present we crave to know the way the planets continue on their course, no matter what we say. But, if somehow we have a name we fill ourselves with pride, so Spring today will appear at precisely eleven fifty-five. With that nailed down for this year, and of course we know the next, we appear to give good order to all the random thoughts and scattered conversations that fall in the spaces between. Without these benchmarks we'd surely live in Lao Tzu's formless reality.