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.

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
The Bankrupt Peace-Maker
I opened the ink-well and smoke filled the room.

The smoke formed the giant frog-cat of my doom.

His web feet left dreadful slime tracks on the floor.

He had hammer and nails that he laid by the door.

He sprawled on the table, claw-hands in my hair.

He looked through my heart to the mud that was there.

Like a black-mailer hating his victim he spoke:
"When I see all your squirming I laugh till I choke
Singing of peace.
Railing at battle.

Soothing a handful with saccharine prattle.

All the millions of earth have voted for fight.

You are voting for talk, with hands lily white.
He leaped to the floor, then grew seven feet high,
Beautiful, terrible, scorn in his eye:
The Devil Eternal, Apollo grown old,
With beard of bright silver and garments of gold.

"What will you do to end war for good?
Will you stand by the book-case, be nailed to the wood?"
I stretched out my arms.
He drove the nails deep,
Silently, coolly.
The house was asleep,
I hung for three years, forbidden to die.

I seemed but a shadow the servants passed by.

At the end of the time with hot irons he returned.

"The Quitter Sublime" on my bosom he burned.

As he seared me he hissed: "You are wearing away.

The good angels tell me you leave them today.

You want to come down from the nails in the door.

The victor must hang there three hundred years more.

If any prig-saint would outvote all mankind
He must use an immortally resolute mind.

Think what the saints of Benares endure,
Through infinite birthpangs their courage is sure.

Self-tortured, self-ruled, they build their powers high,
Until they are gods, overmaster the sky.
Then he pulled out the nails.
He shouted "Come in.
To heal me there stepped in a lady of sin.

Her hand was in mine.
We walked in the sun.

She said: "Now forget them, the Saxon and Hun.

You are dreary and aged and silly and weak.

Let us smell the sweet groves.
Let the summertime speak.
We walked to the river.
We swam there in state.

I was a serpent.
She was my mate.

I forgot in the marsh, as I tumbled about,
That trial in my room, where I did not hold out.

Since I was a serpent, my mate seemed to me
As a mermaiden seems to a fisher at sea,
Or a whisky soaked girl to a whisky soaked king.

I woke.
She had turned to a ravening thing
On the table — a buzzard with leperous head.

She tore up my rhymes and my drawings.
She said:
"I am your own cheap bankrupt soul.

Will you die for the nations, making them whole?
We joy in the swamp and here we are gay.

Will you bring your fine peace to the nations today?"
Written by: Vachel Lindsay