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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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It’s 1914, and Hollywood star Mabel Normand has just helped new boy Charlie Chaplin to develop his “Tramp” character. She is wondering if she’s done the right thing. I gave him everything – even the walk. He’s too priapic for his baggy britches! Arriving here still tarred with charred old cork, this fraud who jawed of Avignon and Sitges while knowing neither, has the crew in stitches. Dexterity is not the same as grace: he’s shaping up for all-time rags-to-riches, the parasite who rose without a trace: but we can see beneath the comic carapace. He’s carrying himself now like a star. If glibness were the same as eloquence, I haven’t any doubt that he’d go far. The talent, if untutored, is immense. I wish he’d just – when not before the lens – acknowledge what’s been done for him. That loud theatricality I tamed. The sense of something intímate, less harsh, less proud, I think I gave him. But his eyes are on the crowd. He’s trying to direct us. We’re his bitches. That script he wrote permits him to molest some seven women, like as if his itches are there to be indulged. The man’s obsessed. I nurtured him and now, at his behest, I’m served up as his plaything. I’m incensed! The cuckoo kicks the babies from the nest, but still the mother feeds him. My defence? A woman’s love survives a man’s incontinence.

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Mabel's Strange Predicament

It’s 1914, and Hollywood star Mabel Normand has just helped new boy Charlie Chaplin to develop his “Tramp” character. She is wondering if she’s done the right thing. I gave him everything – even the walk. He’s too priapic for his baggy britches! Arriving here still tarred with charred old cork, this fraud who jawed of Avignon and Sitges while knowing neither, has the crew in stitches. Dexterity is not the same as grace: he’s shaping up for all-time rags-to-riches, the parasite who rose without a trace: but we can see beneath the comic carapace. He’s carrying himself now like a star. If glibness were the same as eloquence, I haven’t any doubt that he’d go far. The talent, if untutored, is immense. I wish he’d just – when not before the lens – acknowledge what’s been done for him. That loud theatricality I tamed. The sense of something intímate, less harsh, less proud, I think I gave him. But his eyes are on the crowd. He’s trying to direct us. We’re his bitches. That script he wrote permits him to molest some seven women, like as if his itches are there to be indulged. The man’s obsessed. I nurtured him and now, at his behest, I’m served up as his plaything. I’m incensed! The cuckoo kicks the babies from the nest, but still the mother feeds him. My defence? A woman’s love survives a man’s incontinence.