Welcome to my fourth and final instalment of our Showcase for June. We end with some incredible pieces of fiction, poetry and a visual poem, representing ‘Mindset.’ It’s also coming to the end of Pride Month – a reminder of how far we have come in terms of equality for all and how much we need to preserve and improve this for future generations.

This week covers a variety of themes: darkness and light, human and animal, respect for our minds, our memories and our sources of inspiration. The one thing they have in common is respect for ourselves, others and our animal and plant friends on the earth. We’re all interconnected and interdependent. If we keep an open mind we can change our mindset and so, change our world and our reality – one mind at a time –  until we reach tipping point. Who knows what magic the future holds?

I’m also delighted to include a beautiful illustration of a visual poem by Lucia Morciano on this week’s page.

First up, a short story by Nicholas Vaughan, whose fiction has previously appeared in Write On! I love his mix of scientific curiosity and philosophical outlook on the relationship between humankind and the animal world.

Observations On The Synthetic Beast, As Conducted At Walton Hall

From the private journal of C.D. 1835

It has long been a question in my mind whether man, through his faculties of reason and construction, might imitate nature — not merely in outward form, but in essence. This question has occupied me most keenly since my visit to Mr Charles Waterton at Walton Hall, Yorkshire.

Mr Waterton is a gentleman of peculiar habits but uncommon devotion to the natural sciences. I found in him a rare spirit: fearless in the pursuit of knowledge and unconcerned with ridicule. His collections of taxidermised creatures surpass all others I have encountered in Europe or abroad, and yet it was not their countenance that astonished me, but what they revealed of the maker’s mind.

The estate was shrouded in early mist when I arrived and the grounds, kept wild by intent, echoed with the cries of birds and the dull thrum of insects. He greeted me not with a handshake, but by thrusting a skull into my hands.

“Lemur,” he said. “Observe the curvature of the cranium. It is closer to our own than any bishop will admit.”

He then led me to his ‘Museum of Possibilities,’ where the most curious item was a creature he called The Nondescript: a stitched hybrid of monkey, deer and something disturbingly human.

He declared, “I do not seek to mock God’s creation. I seek to illuminate it, to remind mankind of the beasts he once was and perhaps still is.”

In the days that followed, I observed his experiments with growing fascination and, if I am honest, discomfort. One morning, I witnessed the application of curare – an alkaloid derived from South American vines – to a domestic donkey. The animal was rendered entirely immobile, though its heartbeat persisted faintly beneath the skin. Waterton revived it using bellows and considerable skill.

“This proves,” he said with vigour, “that motion and will are not one and the same.”

His son Edmund, a bright but reluctant heir, looked on with scepticism. “You talk to animals more than people, Father,” he once said. “Perhaps you should marry a jaguar!”

To which Waterton responded without irony, “I have not yet met one with whom I disagree.”

At his request, I joined him, Edmund and a talented freedman named John Edmonstone on a journey across the continent. John had been instructed in the art of preservation and dissection, and it was Mr Waterton’s hope that he might become the finest taxidermist of his generation.

Our destination was Belgium, where an acquaintance of Waterton’s claimed to keep a baboon not in a cage, but as a companion.

During our travels, Mr Waterton subjected himself to various discomforts, including walking barefoot for many miles through alpine snow, to “join his ancestors in martyrdom.” His feet bled as his spirits soared.

At a slaughterhouse in Rome, I watched him become momentarily transfixed by the spillage of blood across the stone courtyard. He claimed to see visions in it: a taxonomy not of species but of states of being. He muttered, “Zoological, Vigilant, Animalistic,” as if reciting a new Trinity.

I questioned him that night. “What do you mean by these categories?” I asked.

He replied, “Zoological fantasy is the study of the rare and the remote, the sea beast and the sloth. Vigilance of those creatures who live alongside us and whom we ignore. But Animalistic fantasy, that is the most elusive. It is the inner beast. The wildness man suppresses.”

I found the formulation poetic, though I admit I dismissed it at the time as eccentric metaphysics.

In Antwerp, we met a man known as Mr Kats, who indeed kept a baboon named Mina. The creature wore no dress, answered no bells and lived in a courtyard styled to resemble her native jungle. She met us at the table, gently accepted carrots from Edmund and showed no inclination to perform.

“She is herself,” said Mr Kats.

This, more than all that had preceded it, seemed to affect Waterton profoundly. On the journey home, he spoke little. He scribbled constantly in a black-bound journal, pausing only to stare at his hands, or at trees.

Shortly after our return to Walton Hall, a parcel arrived. I was present when he opened it.

Inside was a small cage and the limp form of a chimpanzee. A note confirmed it was the creature called Jenny, who had lived in Scarborough under conditions most unnatural: forced into servitude and ridicule, made to serve tea in women’s clothing.

Waterton lifted the body tenderly. “She is not grotesque,” he said. “She is merely an image of ourselves, treated as other.”

What followed was a remarkable demonstration of his process. The internal organs were removed with reverence, the skin washed, the limbs packed and positioned. John assisted expertly. I made notes.

Later that night, I found Waterton asleep in a rocking chair, the stuffed body of Jenny now placed on a pedestal in the corner. Around him hung dozens of such creations, all silent, all watching.

He stirred, half in dream, and murmured, “The bestiary is not just a catalogue. It is a mirror. Every animal we mount upon the wall is a mask of ourselves.”

As I left the next day, he handed me a page from his journal. On it was a sketch of a beast constructed from many others: a platypus’s beak, a giraffe’s neck, a lion’s mane, the hands of man. Beneath it was written: To evolve is not only to adapt. It is to remember what we have chosen to forget.

It is not for me to say whether Waterton’s visions stem from scientific genius or fevered fancy. But as I examine the contours of human history and consider our kinship with the animal world, I cannot help but wonder if, in some mad and mournful way, he was ahead of his time.

(c) Nicholas Vaughan, 2025

Connect with Nicholas on their website: nickvaughan.org 

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Next up, I’m delighted to include this beautiful visual poem by Lucia Morciano.

Who’s Anxious?

I was allowed
to be
light, and
didn’t struggle.
stretching and
swallowing hard,
so warm and
soft and
wrapped ‘round.

(c) Lucia Morciano, 2025

(c) Lucia Morciano, 2025

Connect with Lucia on Facebook: Lucia Morciano, Instagram: @lucia_morciano, LinkedIn: Lucia Morciano and via their website: luciamorciano.com

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Now another poem, this one from Write On! team member Danny Baxter, a regular contributor of both words and illustrations. His piece ponders something I often wonder about myself. So much of our precious creative time and energy can be wasted in the maze of social media and the internet. Changing our mindset about how and when we use it can help us to become more discerning and take back control of what we feed our minds, our ultimate treasure. Don’t you agree?

Ultimate Mindset

Ultimate mindset.
That’s what I want to get.
Using the extra 90%? Not yet.
Probably some cheat way to get there, I bet.

Invested in pursuits that are a poor use of my days.
Junk and waste blocking my neural path ways.
Superfluous info assimilated through my gaze.
Leaving my thoughts trapped in this self-constructed maze.

Media generators feeding my addiction to trash.
Platformed by conglomerates raking in loads of cash.
Intake of the material causing me an itchy brain rash.
I must routinely detox to prevent a system Crash.

Seeking to upgrade to an elevated mind frame.
Optimising my efficiency is the name of the game.
To process calculations like a mainframe.
Achieving the ultimate mindset is my aim.

© Danny Baxter, Xian Force Productions, 2025

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Next, a powerful poem by Robert Drury, demonstrating the duality of our world today and summoning hope that love and light will win over fear and darkness.

A Sonnet: To The Love Of Light

The days of our lives live strong in my heart
Regret and regrets again moves on me
Have I enough or not, to live the part?
To show us what it is to look and see

Notice you, my shimmering fearful thought
Possibilities may come around here
Again and yet again, all think so short
Following the dumb proud big toffs of fear.

Peace and security are ever at stake
The pleasure to ambush our God of Love
To kill off His creatives, He so makes
Who had lived the war filled negative stuff.

The Light of Love for the so many strong ones
Long deep Hell for the few who put them there.
 
(c) Robert Drury, 2025

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Finally,  another poem, this time by yours truly. It’s a lighthearted look at changing our mindset about how we try to control our memory. Sometimes the best way to remember something is to stop focusing on it, and then it will just pop into our heads when we least expect it. I also find this change in mindset works in other areas of life as well.

Fleeting Words

I thought of a lovely word
and now it’s gone,
vanished from my head, out of reach, out of grasp.
Perhaps it will return, I hope,
when I least expect it, and
I will be prepared.
I will be ready to capture the moment
with my pen or my type.
I could coax and cajole,
or ruminate over its loss;
but that will do no good.
It will not work.
No. I must rest and relax,
and forget it.
That way, I give it space to return.
The muse is shy,
likes her privacy,
will not be bullied back.
The ultimate snowflake.
Unique, ephemeral, whispering.
Oh lost words, lost words
Please return to me.

(c) Lisa Scully-O’Grady, 2023

Connect with me on Instagram: @letters_home_again and Bluesky: @lisaso.bsky.social

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That’s it from me. I hope you’ve enjoyed my selections for this, my final  week and that they’ve given you plenty to ponder over the long summer days ahead. I wish you a restful holiday wherever that may be, and I take this opportunity to invite you to get creating and sending in your pieces, either written or visual, or both, relating to ‘Reflections’, which will be our theme for next quarter.

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If you’d like to see your writing appear in the Write On! Showcase, please submit your short stories, poetry or novel extracts to: pentoprint.org/get-involved/submit-to-write-on/

Hear extracts from Showcase in our podcast. Write On! Audio. Find us on all major podcast platforms, including Apple and Google Podcasts and Spotify. Type Pen to Print into your browser and look for our logo or find us on Spotify for Pocasters.

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