I wrote this poem for an open mic night I attended yesterday. I was saddened to learn this morning that the last surviving member of the original Motörhead lineup, Fast Eddie Clarke, had passed away.
This poem is therefore dedicated to him.
In addition, portions of this poem are lyrics from the song Overkill.
Ode To Overkill
A drum beat
like a thousand coked up jackhammers
stutterstepping their way
through the sistene chapel
while a bass guitar
unleashes tidal waves that rend cities from land
and leave nothing but hordes of the deaf.
Cuz the only way to feel the noise
is when it’s good and loud
so good I can’t believe it
screaming with the crowd
So don’t sweat it
get it back to you
and don’t worry about a thing
because nobody can find a way to hit the snooze button
on this doomsday clock
that now ticks to midnight
at 119 BPM.
This is scorched earth
this is a free fire orgy of volume
and you can’t help but want to shimmy
because you know your body is made to move
you feel it in your guts
and rock and roll aint worth the name
if it don’t make you strut.
But don’t try to tap dance to this tune
because you’ll end up breaking both
your fucking legs.
A guitar note slides past so hard
it causes fault lines to open up across the earth
like the whole planet was a tangerine
crushed under a truck tire.
And there’s no stopping the inevitable now
as everything turns to dust and dissolves
in a napalm spasm
and the ocean boils down to not but beer spit and dead ash
as Motörhead puts in its resume for the job of
a global warming style doom messiah
and mops up the whole job
with the last two minutes of the song.
Cymbals crash out
and we begin the last round
of sweet, sweet
The sun careens into what’s left of this
former globe of ours
and goes into a supernova that clips other stars nearby
and sets them off like champagne bottles
till every species in the known Universe looks up into the sky
to see the dreaded snaggletooth wrote large on the cosmos
as a new wave of British Heavy Metal rolls over
everything known and unknown
like a merciless leather jacket clad brush
through the zen garden of existence.
but a blank space
where two amobeas meet one another
in the vast darkness of zero
and start to fuck
to the drum beat