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Media and Death

My name is Jamie Lee Hamann and I started writing poetry on Hubpages back in 2013. Every year I share a poem a day in April.



While I wash dinner dishes

scrape the crud off of plates

I overhear my children

watch Minecraft MODS

without understanding,

how this disappear and restart,

how this form of entertainment

has any type of value

but they stare.

I am as uncomfortable with all this,

as I am in large crowds of people,

or when I need to confront someone,

or as I am with the idea of death.

Two things I know nothing about:

What all this device usage means

and what happens when we die?

A reminder of a podcasts

where they talked about a poem

called "Media and Death.”

A collage of images

set around a television

where the narrator is reminded

of death in her own life.

What reminds me?

Each episode of "Black Mirror"

I binge watch on Netflix.

Didn't Emily Dickinson

have something to say about this.

Then in an act of defiance

I write

D - E - N - I - A - L

with my wet finger

on steamed window

above the sink


Same word I found

spelled out

on a piece of scratch paper

underneath my smart T.V.

near my new VR set

where my daughter

walks with extinct animals,

animals long dead

brought to life for her to touch,

she was not born for death.

I find myself on Facebook

where my memories crystallize.

Life into data ports,

pictures of my children,

play in sand on beach,

hiking up a mountain,

a day at the pool.

Rants and raves of everyday

an overall capture

of the essence of time

a firm grip on immortality.

My oldest with his laptop,

symphony to Vonzipper,

tells me I know nothing

of electronics.

I tell him I know nothing

of whatever all this is

like I know nothing

about death.

A friend of mine

waits patiently

for Melanoma

to bring

a settling sleep.

He dreams of turtles

real ones he can touch

hours of staring

at this creature move

not on television

or a video from "youtube"


II it instant gratification

or an extended period of patience?

I gaze out over my children's heads,

of my little electronic zombies.

What becomes of my friend?

The one diagnosed

with stage 4 Melanoma,

what becomes of his presence

in the world of data?

Does he still die alone?

When I look up at the ceiling

I see an end and scared

I look down at my children's heads


Everything artificial is better real,

the smell of fresh cut lawn,

the amazing movement of ants.

"Get up kids, get up!

Go outside and get off those things!

Find a turtle at the park,

use your imagination,

make up a game,





this is a thing I understand.

© 2018 Jamie Lee Hamann

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