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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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“Some Other Poet, White Iris” When I look in the mirror what do I see? I question existential questions and fiction, my eyes are the eyes of another staring back at me, perceived through the glassy tear film that separates us glides another life in a timeless place where observant, that Other watches within that strange oculum holding pen, a shadow that appears to be me, stands as I am, solitary there abandoned at the apex of a dome where there the singular gate opens like an iris blooming in its reflection, it is transfiguring into a 1000 petalled Lotus, a Sahasrara crown hovers there, waiting to be worn within without, beyond the body, where that Other places it on the untouched softer fontenelle; what if all this around me outside the mirror is the surreal, and I am inside the mind of Borges tracking his messages in his winding labyrinth of chance and infinity, seeking the archive keeper, and like an automaton here on the outside, Borges winds me up, he pulls my strings, but no, he is still amongst the living, and I walk with the dead, so no, perhaps not Borges, but the elusive removed ghost of some other dead Poet calls me further and further in Candide Diderot. ‘24 “The waking mind with its dreams, which may well be but broken images of the night’s treasure, a timeless world that has no name or measure and breaks up in the mirrors of the day. Who will you be tonight, in the dark thrall of sleep, when you have slipped across its wall?” (Jorge Luis Borges, excerpt) “Behind the name is that which has no name; Today I have felt its shadow gravitate in this blue needle, in its trembling sweep Casting its influence toward the farthest strait, with something of a clock glimpsed in a dream and something of a bird that stirs in its sleep” (Jorge Luis Borges, excerpt) “The irises themselves, very many of them just passing their prime, seem anxious, especially by way of contrast with the rigid orange marigolds behind them. There’s an urgency to the brushstrokes, too, that makes it hard to read this as a tranquil piece.” “Considering van Gogh’s isolation when he painted Irises, the work’s lone white iris seems particularly poignant as a symbol of his seclusion, although without textual proof, it’s at best a projection. The bloom may have simply caught the eye of the artist, and it’s our own restiveness responding. So much of what we choose to see in Irises is conjecture, but its enduring pull is very real.” “Van Gogh started painting Irises within a month of entering the asylum, in May 1889, working from nature in the hospital garden. There is a lack of the high tension which is seen in his later works. He called painting "the lightning conductor for my illness" because he felt that he could keep himself from going insane by continuing to paint.” what -v- who.

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Some Other Poet, White Iris

“Some Other Poet, White Iris” When I look in the mirror what do I see? I question existential questions and fiction, my eyes are the eyes of another staring back at me, perceived through the glassy tear film that separates us glides another life in a timeless place where observant, that Other watches within that strange oculum holding pen, a shadow that appears to be me, stands as I am, solitary there abandoned at the apex of a dome where there the singular gate opens like an iris blooming in its reflection, it is transfiguring into a 1000 petalled Lotus, a Sahasrara crown hovers there, waiting to be worn within without, beyond the body, where that Other places it on the untouched softer fontenelle; what if all this around me outside the mirror is the surreal, and I am inside the mind of Borges tracking his messages in his winding labyrinth of chance and infinity, seeking the archive keeper, and like an automaton here on the outside, Borges winds me up, he pulls my strings, but no, he is still amongst the living, and I walk with the dead, so no, perhaps not Borges, but the elusive removed ghost of some other dead Poet calls me further and further in Candide Diderot. ‘24 “The waking mind with its dreams, which may well be but broken images of the night’s treasure, a timeless world that has no name or measure and breaks up in the mirrors of the day. Who will you be tonight, in the dark thrall of sleep, when you have slipped across its wall?” (Jorge Luis Borges, excerpt) “Behind the name is that which has no name; Today I have felt its shadow gravitate in this blue needle, in its trembling sweep Casting its influence toward the farthest strait, with something of a clock glimpsed in a dream and something of a bird that stirs in its sleep” (Jorge Luis Borges, excerpt) “The irises themselves, very many of them just passing their prime, seem anxious, especially by way of contrast with the rigid orange marigolds behind them. There’s an urgency to the brushstrokes, too, that makes it hard to read this as a tranquil piece.” “Considering van Gogh’s isolation when he painted Irises, the work’s lone white iris seems particularly poignant as a symbol of his seclusion, although without textual proof, it’s at best a projection. The bloom may have simply caught the eye of the artist, and it’s our own restiveness responding. So much of what we choose to see in Irises is conjecture, but its enduring pull is very real.” “Van Gogh started painting Irises within a month of entering the asylum, in May 1889, working from nature in the hospital garden. There is a lack of the high tension which is seen in his later works. He called painting "the lightning conductor for my illness" because he felt that he could keep himself from going insane by continuing to paint.” what -v- who.