A terrible poem that will either be revised into oblivion or simply tossed out.

Vap
Vop
Vutch
Scribblescrabble scratch
Click click click.
The mute writer goes about his business.

A quick quatrain before I leave.

The rain buffets his stone features
Carrying him away, grain by grain.
Thunder cracks
And so does he.

Tick Tock

Tick Tock Tick Tock
My final is done and now I shall walk
From place to place in my mental stock
Of words and letters and ideas that talk
The time has come to write.