Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

Here me say

Enlarge poem

Am writing on my wall what is of the heart

Blinded by the dark world, listen when a blind

Man scribbles down those hurtful words.

Those days of hunger and starvation.

My baby girl just got molested and am arrested for killing that

Man, am a convict of revenge.

Am tired of been good, if Jesus died for nothing

Then I wont be here to thank him for my

Survival.

Am painting a picture of bleeding tear, am not mad may be crazy yet this world got a place for me.

Hip-hop for fame has got many die for nothing but to flip that script.

Call me the wanna be hip-hop star but I thank god for keeping me straight.

Religious hiccups got me stained like am stoned on cocaine.

A true false of them that tend to speak of the enlightened ones

Carriers of Jesus pieces hanging on their underground truces

God didn’t create us so he can have the pleasure to kill us

Them sins that were reborn have overshadowed our human imperfection a gun on one hand the bible on the lap, the lighter on the other hand can you force goodness faster than evil

The pictures on my wall area dream of a goddess that one’s a baby girl hard yet reality struck so hard like am high on some soporific words

This pen that these lyrics are born from is breaking down; the ink is running out and am not satisfied

My heart feels like a hardcore rapper that has been in this industry long before It started

Turn up the radio and add some volume if hip-hop mater Nas is on the waves

Brotherhood is a system and am not here to confuse the world I will tell the truth, face the facts like pimp c

Two roads to the hip-hop emperor and am holding on to the one with morals, I may not be comical with I may not flow like am supposed to, but that look that my son will look me with is what am worried about.my words need no soul to hear of them cause they creep on me like a ghost in Halloween.

My body temperature at 40, so cold and numb. If I had a mentor I could have been prepared for this

The candle burning dim, I feel like this is a suicidal letter am writing

Can I speak a word of faith for the flame to glow brighter?

I mimic that daily guy on TV with paper writing repent it’s the beginning of an end the genesis of humanity aspects that our mamas didnít instill in us

I don’t apologies for telling the truth I don’t compromise either I would but in the act of mercy class I bet we all failed.

They call me the fatty pig it’s not a hobby if may be you thought I loved, but wish I wasn’t so mean to steal that beggars change we back then, now I cry when I run I canít take the pressure the bitterness has coated my skin even when dug so deep no goodness is found

If underground hip-hop is so good then why do we keep it under?

Cause me am tired of this hip hop trash, hip-hop praise, and hip-hop a cry for me

So am throwing back to back this Tupac tracks for this hiphopless generation

Am not doing this to get a nomination for the best rapper but if I did I’ll still be true to my words.

A picture of immortal technique on my bedside to remind me of the technics of the nature of humanity.

I may not be born a hardcore nigga from the ghetto but thatís what this world has been reduced you.

Replay those words from the Game that my daddy needed a needle more

Am not sure if I can keep up with this trademark competition

If my records wont make it to the radio am sure that my son will find inspiration from them, and I will tell him that I got no inspiration from no church, I didnt become so good on one night cause even when am writing am convinced that this will be another of them that end up to the trash. But you cant blame a girl for trying.

But unlike others I wont wait to die so you can read my staff

Or write them on my blog so I can grab your attention either

But hear me when I say that am a true believer of poetry hip hop and wordplay

You donít need to be like Dr. Dre, Eminem, and Jay z

You donít need a stage to rock you’re a rock star in the making

Am down on my knees praying this little prayer was born a serial lover a serial killer they call me the heartbreak.

My exMAN called me a bimbo with a triple o but I didn’t trip no oh! Cause am not here for the doh but if my words touch your heart and make your world a better place, then we can allow that cash to flow,

You know before I never heard the beat, so I wrote, wait a bit is that the beat now my words flow down to the floor to the hardest core.

Helen Wambui

Featured Poem:

Loud Music

Enlarge poem

The music plays louder to my ears

Dancing to the beat that only I can feel.

Reducing the volume to less success.

I can’t multitask am enslaved to this music.

Shoes torn out, bones breaking, the power is too much and I keep still dancing

Heart racing, forehead sweating, yet can’t stop smiling

That unheard water drops distracts the beats

The thought of how this music make me feel I loss the rhythm

I have been isolated, cast out, locked in a hell hole where crawling insects makes

A rhythm, I listen to the wall cry out, from far beyond

Hit me ones and am not breaking down. The foundation is so strong

That all its struggles and pain itís all in vain

Finally the beat, makes a crack, with a smile, I think of my freedom.

Oh how does the silence feel like, oh how does the outside air feel to the skin

When I step out, I will take off my clothes

Run naked to the fields and screaming

Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!

Free at last

In the mix of all this excitement, I can’t help and ask, will I miss being confined

Locked out from the world, then I made imaginary friends, the kind of friends that

Wanted what I wanted.

Oh surely I’ll miss the occasional lizard that checked on me times to time

That bird that sang so beautifully that everything else went mute

Oh will I miss solitary

I ask can I achieve solitude and not be isolated

I peep through the crack faddily not seeing well I notice himher that plays the drum

And I can’t help wonder what really excites his her motivation

I can tell from the sound effect that the drum communicates, sometimes it complains cause it

Can’t connect with the music but then again its makes the music, so free it goes

On the floor in the corner, I sit the lizard pokes the cockroach with its tiny legs motion its felt,

The bird whistles, from a distance the drum talks to me.

I can’t stand the melody, impatiently I fidget

I still couldn’t get it, the inner silences overwhelms me,

And the music sense captures

Oh it’s the music with content, music I can relate to. Music I can

Comprehend.

Arrgh shut all other music

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (0)
  • Pride (0)
  • Optimism (0)
  • Anger (0)
  • Delight (0)
  • Inspiration (0)
  • Reflection (1)
  • Captivation (0)
  • Peace (0)
  • Amusement (0)
  • Sorrow (0)
  • Vigour (0)
  • Hope (0)
  • Sadness (0)
  • Fear (0)
  • Jubilation (0)

Comments

  1. Hello Helen. I’m a student at Pekin Community High School. I’m doing a presentation over you and I was wondering if it would be okay to ask you a few questions about yourself.

    Patrick

Your email address will not be published.

Biography

Hellen “Poeticbee” is proudly Kenyan. She is a student pursing fashion design,she is also a performing spoken word artist,a recording musician, and 46th Slam Africa queen. She was born into a creative family where her life quickly started revolving around pen, paper, words and melodies.

Helen Wambui

Biography

Hellen “Poeticbee” is proudly Kenyan. She is a student pursing fashion design,she is also a performing spoken word artist,a recording musician, and 46th Slam Africa queen. She was born into a creative family where her life quickly started revolving around pen, paper, words and melodies.

Here me say

Enlarge poem

Am writing on my wall what is of the heart

Blinded by the dark world, listen when a blind

Man scribbles down those hurtful words.

Those days of hunger and starvation.

My baby girl just got molested and am arrested for killing that

Man, am a convict of revenge.

Am tired of been good, if Jesus died for nothing

Then I wont be here to thank him for my

Survival.

Am painting a picture of bleeding tear, am not mad may be crazy yet this world got a place for me.

Hip-hop for fame has got many die for nothing but to flip that script.

Call me the wanna be hip-hop star but I thank god for keeping me straight.

Religious hiccups got me stained like am stoned on cocaine.

A true false of them that tend to speak of the enlightened ones

Carriers of Jesus pieces hanging on their underground truces

God didn’t create us so he can have the pleasure to kill us

Them sins that were reborn have overshadowed our human imperfection a gun on one hand the bible on the lap, the lighter on the other hand can you force goodness faster than evil

The pictures on my wall area dream of a goddess that one’s a baby girl hard yet reality struck so hard like am high on some soporific words

This pen that these lyrics are born from is breaking down; the ink is running out and am not satisfied

My heart feels like a hardcore rapper that has been in this industry long before It started

Turn up the radio and add some volume if hip-hop mater Nas is on the waves

Brotherhood is a system and am not here to confuse the world I will tell the truth, face the facts like pimp c

Two roads to the hip-hop emperor and am holding on to the one with morals, I may not be comical with I may not flow like am supposed to, but that look that my son will look me with is what am worried about.my words need no soul to hear of them cause they creep on me like a ghost in Halloween.

My body temperature at 40, so cold and numb. If I had a mentor I could have been prepared for this

The candle burning dim, I feel like this is a suicidal letter am writing

Can I speak a word of faith for the flame to glow brighter?

I mimic that daily guy on TV with paper writing repent it’s the beginning of an end the genesis of humanity aspects that our mamas didnít instill in us

I don’t apologies for telling the truth I don’t compromise either I would but in the act of mercy class I bet we all failed.

They call me the fatty pig it’s not a hobby if may be you thought I loved, but wish I wasn’t so mean to steal that beggars change we back then, now I cry when I run I canít take the pressure the bitterness has coated my skin even when dug so deep no goodness is found

If underground hip-hop is so good then why do we keep it under?

Cause me am tired of this hip hop trash, hip-hop praise, and hip-hop a cry for me

So am throwing back to back this Tupac tracks for this hiphopless generation

Am not doing this to get a nomination for the best rapper but if I did I’ll still be true to my words.

A picture of immortal technique on my bedside to remind me of the technics of the nature of humanity.

I may not be born a hardcore nigga from the ghetto but thatís what this world has been reduced you.

Replay those words from the Game that my daddy needed a needle more

Am not sure if I can keep up with this trademark competition

If my records wont make it to the radio am sure that my son will find inspiration from them, and I will tell him that I got no inspiration from no church, I didnt become so good on one night cause even when am writing am convinced that this will be another of them that end up to the trash. But you cant blame a girl for trying.

But unlike others I wont wait to die so you can read my staff

Or write them on my blog so I can grab your attention either

But hear me when I say that am a true believer of poetry hip hop and wordplay

You donít need to be like Dr. Dre, Eminem, and Jay z

You donít need a stage to rock you’re a rock star in the making

Am down on my knees praying this little prayer was born a serial lover a serial killer they call me the heartbreak.

My exMAN called me a bimbo with a triple o but I didn’t trip no oh! Cause am not here for the doh but if my words touch your heart and make your world a better place, then we can allow that cash to flow,

You know before I never heard the beat, so I wrote, wait a bit is that the beat now my words flow down to the floor to the hardest core.

Featured Poem:

Loud Music

Enlarge poem

The music plays louder to my ears

Dancing to the beat that only I can feel.

Reducing the volume to less success.

I can’t multitask am enslaved to this music.

Shoes torn out, bones breaking, the power is too much and I keep still dancing

Heart racing, forehead sweating, yet can’t stop smiling

That unheard water drops distracts the beats

The thought of how this music make me feel I loss the rhythm

I have been isolated, cast out, locked in a hell hole where crawling insects makes

A rhythm, I listen to the wall cry out, from far beyond

Hit me ones and am not breaking down. The foundation is so strong

That all its struggles and pain itís all in vain

Finally the beat, makes a crack, with a smile, I think of my freedom.

Oh how does the silence feel like, oh how does the outside air feel to the skin

When I step out, I will take off my clothes

Run naked to the fields and screaming

Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!

Free at last

In the mix of all this excitement, I can’t help and ask, will I miss being confined

Locked out from the world, then I made imaginary friends, the kind of friends that

Wanted what I wanted.

Oh surely I’ll miss the occasional lizard that checked on me times to time

That bird that sang so beautifully that everything else went mute

Oh will I miss solitary

I ask can I achieve solitude and not be isolated

I peep through the crack faddily not seeing well I notice himher that plays the drum

And I can’t help wonder what really excites his her motivation

I can tell from the sound effect that the drum communicates, sometimes it complains cause it

Can’t connect with the music but then again its makes the music, so free it goes

On the floor in the corner, I sit the lizard pokes the cockroach with its tiny legs motion its felt,

The bird whistles, from a distance the drum talks to me.

I can’t stand the melody, impatiently I fidget

I still couldn’t get it, the inner silences overwhelms me,

And the music sense captures

Oh it’s the music with content, music I can relate to. Music I can

Comprehend.

Arrgh shut all other music

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (0)
  • Pride (0)
  • Optimism (0)
  • Anger (0)
  • Delight (0)
  • Inspiration (0)
  • Reflection (1)
  • Captivation (0)
  • Peace (0)
  • Amusement (0)
  • Sorrow (0)
  • Vigour (0)
  • Hope (0)
  • Sadness (0)
  • Fear (0)
  • Jubilation (0)

Here me say

Enlarge poem

Am writing on my wall what is of the heart

Blinded by the dark world, listen when a blind

Man scribbles down those hurtful words.

Those days of hunger and starvation.

My baby girl just got molested and am arrested for killing that

Man, am a convict of revenge.

Am tired of been good, if Jesus died for nothing

Then I wont be here to thank him for my

Survival.

Am painting a picture of bleeding tear, am not mad may be crazy yet this world got a place for me.

Hip-hop for fame has got many die for nothing but to flip that script.

Call me the wanna be hip-hop star but I thank god for keeping me straight.

Religious hiccups got me stained like am stoned on cocaine.

A true false of them that tend to speak of the enlightened ones

Carriers of Jesus pieces hanging on their underground truces

God didn’t create us so he can have the pleasure to kill us

Them sins that were reborn have overshadowed our human imperfection a gun on one hand the bible on the lap, the lighter on the other hand can you force goodness faster than evil

The pictures on my wall area dream of a goddess that one’s a baby girl hard yet reality struck so hard like am high on some soporific words

This pen that these lyrics are born from is breaking down; the ink is running out and am not satisfied

My heart feels like a hardcore rapper that has been in this industry long before It started

Turn up the radio and add some volume if hip-hop mater Nas is on the waves

Brotherhood is a system and am not here to confuse the world I will tell the truth, face the facts like pimp c

Two roads to the hip-hop emperor and am holding on to the one with morals, I may not be comical with I may not flow like am supposed to, but that look that my son will look me with is what am worried about.my words need no soul to hear of them cause they creep on me like a ghost in Halloween.

My body temperature at 40, so cold and numb. If I had a mentor I could have been prepared for this

The candle burning dim, I feel like this is a suicidal letter am writing

Can I speak a word of faith for the flame to glow brighter?

I mimic that daily guy on TV with paper writing repent it’s the beginning of an end the genesis of humanity aspects that our mamas didnít instill in us

I don’t apologies for telling the truth I don’t compromise either I would but in the act of mercy class I bet we all failed.

They call me the fatty pig it’s not a hobby if may be you thought I loved, but wish I wasn’t so mean to steal that beggars change we back then, now I cry when I run I canít take the pressure the bitterness has coated my skin even when dug so deep no goodness is found

If underground hip-hop is so good then why do we keep it under?

Cause me am tired of this hip hop trash, hip-hop praise, and hip-hop a cry for me

So am throwing back to back this Tupac tracks for this hiphopless generation

Am not doing this to get a nomination for the best rapper but if I did I’ll still be true to my words.

A picture of immortal technique on my bedside to remind me of the technics of the nature of humanity.

I may not be born a hardcore nigga from the ghetto but thatís what this world has been reduced you.

Replay those words from the Game that my daddy needed a needle more

Am not sure if I can keep up with this trademark competition

If my records wont make it to the radio am sure that my son will find inspiration from them, and I will tell him that I got no inspiration from no church, I didnt become so good on one night cause even when am writing am convinced that this will be another of them that end up to the trash. But you cant blame a girl for trying.

But unlike others I wont wait to die so you can read my staff

Or write them on my blog so I can grab your attention either

But hear me when I say that am a true believer of poetry hip hop and wordplay

You donít need to be like Dr. Dre, Eminem, and Jay z

You donít need a stage to rock you’re a rock star in the making

Am down on my knees praying this little prayer was born a serial lover a serial killer they call me the heartbreak.

My exMAN called me a bimbo with a triple o but I didn’t trip no oh! Cause am not here for the doh but if my words touch your heart and make your world a better place, then we can allow that cash to flow,

You know before I never heard the beat, so I wrote, wait a bit is that the beat now my words flow down to the floor to the hardest core.

Comments

  1. Hello Helen. I’m a student at Pekin Community High School. I’m doing a presentation over you and I was wondering if it would be okay to ask you a few questions about yourself.

    Patrick

Your email address will not be published.