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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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(In 1807, Beethoven wrote a piano/violin piece with this title. Count Leo Tolstoy followed in 1890, with a short novel of the same name, in which he argued that matrimony can never work.) What is a marriage? A fusion, or a tether? Two very different creatures, yoked together? I was a piano, you a violin: I, solid, calming, you, discordant, thin, and laced with bitterness. I was your base, and you provided brio, flourish, grace. A lacewing trapped inside a window frame, yet driven by one blind, unchanging aim, you struggled up until, played out, defeated, you fluttered down again, debased, depleted. A war's a love affair, and love's a war. We're so inept - or what's a heaven for? A nest of wasps, my grievances boiled over - but could there ever be a vita nuova? We never learned. I hammered pointlessly, while you abraded. Why could we not see? And so I played it stately, sad, no frills, while you kept up your repetitions, trills and variations. Hovering and wary, you shunned my structures. Ever more contrary, you coiled and squirmed in spasms both continuous, spontaneous, free-wheeling, lithe and sinuous. It seemed to me the harmony had gone: we sang on, yes, but each a separate song. Two butterflies together, intertwined, we tangled on the same, but different, line.

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The Kreutzer Sonata

(In 1807, Beethoven wrote a piano/violin piece with this title. Count Leo Tolstoy followed in 1890, with a short novel of the same name, in which he argued that matrimony can never work.) What is a marriage? A fusion, or a tether? Two very different creatures, yoked together? I was a piano, you a violin: I, solid, calming, you, discordant, thin, and laced with bitterness. I was your base, and you provided brio, flourish, grace. A lacewing trapped inside a window frame, yet driven by one blind, unchanging aim, you struggled up until, played out, defeated, you fluttered down again, debased, depleted. A war's a love affair, and love's a war. We're so inept - or what's a heaven for? A nest of wasps, my grievances boiled over - but could there ever be a vita nuova? We never learned. I hammered pointlessly, while you abraded. Why could we not see? And so I played it stately, sad, no frills, while you kept up your repetitions, trills and variations. Hovering and wary, you shunned my structures. Ever more contrary, you coiled and squirmed in spasms both continuous, spontaneous, free-wheeling, lithe and sinuous. It seemed to me the harmony had gone: we sang on, yes, but each a separate song. Two butterflies together, intertwined, we tangled on the same, but different, line.