This is another darkly moving piece from my talented nephew.
Links to more of Daniel Kennedy’s marvelous work can be found below…
Please click here or on image above to visit original piece at Ghost Parachute Magazine.
Here are additional links for more of Daniel Kennedy’s work:
“Colossus,” Typehouse Literary Magazine, page 44
“Maid of the Mist,” The Madison Review, Fall 2019, page 38
“Film and Literature Holding Hands: Reflecting on Jordan Peele’s Us,” The Minnesota Review
Get to know Daniel’s darkly superb, intensely authentic voice now, and you might be one of the intelligent folks who can boast, “I knew this young man when…”!!!
I should have done this sooner—
that is, to share my nephew Daniel Kennedy’s brilliant work. Daniel’s heart, down to the raw insides, is exponentially compassionate. He is not only a thoughtful and decent young man, his writing talent is boundless. The dedication he pours into his craft is humbling to behold. It is my privilege and honor to highlight some of Daniel’s work here.
Start reading him now—before you have to wait on a bookstore line for his autograph!
click here or on image below to enter
While my darling daughter was checking out my ‘Published Writing and Art’ page, she informed me that many of the links no longer connected to the published pieces. In an effort to correct this, I went through the entire list and connected each piece to its corresponding blog page, as well as re-linking to the journal or site where each was published. This is the one that got away. It was published back in 2017, by ‘Miracles Magazine’ (A generous friend who still works for the magazine had asked me to submit work). I’m re-posting my poem, ‘Bessie’s Echo,’ so the link can be updated. Thank you.
in the distance
faceless proclamations bounce back and forth between the rush of cars
would’ve been herds of cattle trotting for lunch bells ‘cross the road
a yellow Adirondack chair on my front porch, I drink flavored seltzer from a tumbler pretending it’s Dom
spotted bovine hooves
only echos now like dairy farmers spirits loading Bessie’s milk on old Erie railroad cars
bound for the city
retired clanks and clatters float toward the bright sun that once fed fat cows golden grass
with bright yellow bellies flit by my front porch saying their good nights
cropped portion of a sketch drawn about ten years ago, someday I must redo this little sketch, the dang eyes are lopsided!
hope you’re all managing okay within your personal universe and this big beautiful sometimes very bad world of ours
I’ve been offline quite a bit, severely cutting back on social media in a huge effort to create new work I can attempt to submit for publication
(most online journals and magazines will not take blog pieces as these are considered previously published works)
I’m sorry I haven’t been posting here more regularly, I do miss WP
and I apologize for not returning comments quickly
this getting rejected stuff is quite depressing and mind-numbing sometimes
but I guess one must continue to fight the good fight
or better still, work toward creating a seminal piece of work
I’m not nearly there, not by a long shot
I do thank you for stopping by from time to time
and I’m so very excited for the ebook version of, love of the monster, to be out this November!
I’ll be pulling the plug on the print version about the same time and must kick a family member out of the house to make room for cartons of books 😊
very excited to have my piece, uneven candles, published in Red Fez!
two candles flicker on my broken glass tabletop
duct tape challenges pieces from splitting apart
an out-of-control combine should they crack more
things will separate as they will
two sides, uneven halves
like the burning flames
in my candle jars
one new, its scent overpowering
the other nearly used up giving light to my selfish pen
lopsided breasts those candles
the spent candle jar is mucked with wax residue
no easy task to clean for repurposing
when I have so many other jars in my home
loaded with containers, pots, dishes
from house moves
from other loved ones’ house moves
attics, basements crammed up with crap
and an inability to say ‘no’ to anyone
who adores their crap
just not in their home
illustration drawn a few years back using marker, prisma pencils, and good old crayola crayons