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 the photo graphic, 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.

Enter Title (Not Required)

Enter Poem or Quote (Required)

Enter Author Name (Not Required)

Move Text:

Heading Text


Main/Poem Text

Background Position Alignment:

Upload Image: 

 10mb max file size

Use Internet Image:

Layout: - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry
Letter To Kizer From Seattle
Dear Condor: Much thanks for that telephonic support
from North Carolina when I suddenly went ape
in the Iowa tulips.
Lord, but I'm ashamed.

I was afraid, it seemed, according to the doctor
of impending success, winning some poetry prizes
or getting a wet kiss.
The more popular I got,
the softer the soft cry in my head: Don't believe them.

You were never good.
Then I broke and proved it.

Ten successive days I alienated women
I liked best.
I told a coed why her poems were bad
(they weren't) and didn't understand a word I said.

Really warped.
The phrase "I'll be all right"
came out too many unsolicited times.
I'm o.

I'm back at the primal source of poems: wind, sea
and rain, the market and the salmon.
of the market, they're having a vital election here.

Save the market? Tear it down? The forces of evil
maintain they're trying to save it too, obscuring,
of course, the issue.
The forces of righteousness,
me and my friends, are praying for a storm, one
of those grim dark rolling southwest downpours
that will leave the electorate sane.
I'm the last poet
to teach the Roethke chair under Heilman.

He's retiring after 23 years.
Most of the old gang
is gone.
Sol Katz is aging.
Who isn't? It's close now
to the end of summer and would you believe it
I've ignored the Blue Moon.
I did go to White Center,
you know, my home town, and the people there,
many are the same, but also aging, balking, remarkably
polite and calm.
A man whose name escapes me
said he thinks he had known me, the boy who went alone
to Longfellow Creek and who laughed and cried
for no reason.
The city is huge, maybe three quarters
of a million and lots of crime.
They are indicting
the former chief of police.
Sorry to be so rambling.

I eat lunch with J.
Hillis Miller, brilliant and nice
as they come, in the faculty club, overlooking the lake,
much of it now filled in.
And I tour old haunts,
been twice to Kapowsin.
One trout.
One perch.
One poem.

Take care, oh wisest of condors.
Thanks again.
Written by: Richard Hugo