Treba Sue McCutcheon

Norman, AR, USA

Treba, the second daughter of Armond Dexter and Laura Kathleen McCutcheon, was born on March 2, 1957 at Hot Springs, Arkansas. A widowed-divorcee with no children, she has lived most of her life at her home place in the small town of Norman, and graduated from Caddo Hills High. Besides writing poems and stories, she loves animals, painting pictures, various kinds of music and movies. Look for her poem entitled "The Waiting of the Cursed One" in the book of poetry called "Passages of Light" published by The National Library of Poetry. You can leave messages for Treba with her nephew at: kennymann@mindless.com

A Ride With Death

At twelve o'clock in the mist of the chilling night,
While gently the wind blows the leaves off the trees and out of sight;
Silence falls across the darkness of the land,
And every living creature hides behind the trees and in the sand.
All the world comes completely to a stop.
Life itself seemed just to flop.

Off in the distance comes hoofs of clatter,
As the whole world itself seemed to shatter.
Clip, clop, clip, clop . . . it comes nearer and nearer,
And the dark world brings fear upon more fear.
Something down the road is coming,
Riding on a black horse that is running.

Round the bend of the road comes a chilling cry;
You could see the thing as it passed by.
It was wrapped in a black cape,
It's ghostly hands you could not escape.
You could see that it had a skeleton face,
And now you wish that you could leave this place.

It turns around at the bend,
And as it comes back by, it grabs your hand.
Fear grips you deep inside,
As you take off with death for a ride.
Yes, off with death you have gone,
And your body was left back there all alone.

Death is taking you down the road he came,
You disappear into the shadows, who's to blame?
The world watches behind you to see your end;
Who's going to notify your near of kin?
Throughout the land is heard a blood-thirsty cry,
So this is your end, your good-by.

Lament of the Dead

Come all ye lovers and gaze upon my grave.
Weep ye hearts desire, see if ye can raise the dead?
For my spirit continually walks among the tombs,
And weeps all the night long.

Bird of the Night

She kisses her children good-night
Then stretches her wings out for a midnight flight
Soaring above the clouds abold
She searches for something below
Finding what she needs
She sweeps down upon it to feed
Then takes the rest back to her nest