The LibranHorse: A Fiction Writer's Circle.

Burden Unleashed by John W.Filby. Our world was father, you and I But now it’s all so wrong The news that shocked our family life That was kept inside so long I had to share my way of life With the ones I love so dear I tried to change for you, for me But I failed, a helpless fear I didn’t want to hurt you both But hurt sometimes heals the pain I now feel so relieved inside But we’ll never be the same. My love for you is still unchanged But you are distancing yourself from me I’m still the same, your loving son But now my ‘secret’ is now free.
To hold this in for all those years Was causing too much hurt The lies I told to delay this talk But a mother’s senses are alert. You knew all along that I was different Special in so many ways. But to hear this news must really hurt Listen to what my heart says. Because I no longer want to hurt you I broke the news tonight And hope that time will heal our hurts And everything will end just right. 2330HRS 12th August,1989.

Beer and Pizza. By John Filby. 02-04-2018. 0817 hrs. My husband has his best friend over today. He needs to have the company, something I can’t or don’t give him anymore. Yes, every morning he wakes, looks at the world and says good morning to me, and that he loves me. Then the day starts. This is the routine. Today and probably into the evening my husband and his childhood friend will spend time together. He needs this and he gets it. No doubt it will be pizza and beer and whatever sport happens to be on television. This is their bonding. I don’t mind at all because these things and the camaraderie he craves, and I cannot give this to him. The TV is on and it is golf, they chat about the players and the rules and joke that they could do better even though neither of them has ever picked up a club in their lives. One beer down and some crisps are opened. The saltier the crisps the more beer they will consume. The channels flick and now they settle on some kind of football, the r...

Bastille Day By John Filby. 14-07-2016 @ 1308 hrs. Bastille Day and everything French comes to mind. We have adopted many words from French (as well as every other language). We have taken on some cultural aspects too, just think of food and also fashion. French is widely spoken, and I think it is the second official language of sport such as the Olympics. We call the French frogs but wonder why? Don't they eat frog's legs? I can imagine a ward of amputee amphibians with prosthetic limbs or in wheelchairs. Words like beret and ballet and cuisine. What is a French Fry? Is it really from France? Or just one of those terms that evolved from nowhere or a memory of a child who ate chips like that once decades ago in Paris? Paris the city of love but I do recall my time there was not as picturesque as my memorial postcards. Yes, the Eiffel Tower was there but I recall it not being so monstrous in real life. The Pont Neuf was lovely too but don’t recall seeing the other eight....

After the Storm By John Filby 17-06-2016. 1625 hrs I see you after the storm. The lake has spewed its contents far beyond its shores. Paperbark fallen to the sodden ground. Your protection has been removed. How will you fare in the season ahead? I touch your fallen bark and feel softness and warmth that you have now lost and hope you will recover. Your leaves are also scattered and have lost their greenness and youth. Now they are fallen and resemble the hands of my grandparents, dry and wrinkled, but full of life and stories to tell. I wish to soothe them and be nurtured by them. Your seed pods are broken and hope that their contents have been carried forward to a new place of growth. The storm has supplied the perfect environment and the shelter to aid the sprouting of new life. A few flowers have opened after the storm, the change of weather has encouraged this natural event. Your openness will attract birds and insects to pollinate and spread the seeds to grow the winter colour...

I am back where i need to be but the creative flow has drizzled to almost nothing. I start to write and nothing comes. I am using time to edit or complete existing words. I am attempting to put together a book of 'shorts' from all the things I have written since I can remember. I do not care if it is ever published because I am writing for other reasons rather than riches and fame. I hope the creative flow restarts soon. I will continue to edit and redraft untilnew ideas come my way.