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 Our newest entrant, our newest nation, forged in fiery code Bubbled like red hot lava from a net of connected phones. This nascent nation, transcending any boundary road, Passing ports of entry into our domestic pleasure zones. Is there no folly to consider here, no rampant beast? Who, we ask, released it from its lair? How long had this giddy, gyrating force been there? Is there need, is there greed, is it time to despair? Did that wingéd patron god of financial gain release The beast, enabling the mean, to become the mode? We sit comfy in computer chair, glazed in fluorescent glow, We reboot, pass the word and wirelessly our blogs upload, With our mouldering dark suspicions pushed far below. For our new nation is a force for good, bull not bear, A force for good, a force for all, a democratic lion to share. Forces now darkly gather, looking in, rooting round For sight or sound of hesitation, repetition or deviation. After just one minute they think they’ve found, Something wrong, something perplexing, defying gravitation. Our new nation fights, fights hard for her Liberty. Advocates and orators, lawyers and barristers rage, Fanning the crackling flame of their inflated wage. This Nation with no flag will not go back in her cage. A migrant, an itinerant, but once met, here for perpetuity. She has no planes, no ships, no boots on the ground, No home front, no crying of havoc and barking dog, The click, click, click, not gun but her keyboard sound. Her defences invisible, as if lost in coastal fog. We have this gift from others, a child to raise. Chains she should not be in, Freedom must turn her page. ©Keith Murphy
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