How old are you? I regularly lose track of my age, but since I had a pretty big birthday a couple of years ago, I actually do remember how old I am, at least for now. I'm 53 years old in people years, 371 in dog years, but only 8 in Martian years. I should probably move to Mars. I am often introduced at schools as "a 3rd or 4th grader in a grown-up's body," and that's exactly how I feel, especially when I'm diving into a poem, or playing kick-ball. I can almost instantly travel back to being a kid. As you might expect, I've been known to sometimes embarrass my wife and kids by acting a teeny-weenie-jelly-beanie-bit "young". So, I'm not truly a "groan-up". I'm a really big, old kid with glasses and grayish hair.

Where do you get your ideas for writing?

They come mostly from my memories--both as a child and as a teacher. Reading my poems, you'd probably think I had a very strange childhood and school experience, and I guess I sort of did.

I clearly remember much of what made me uncomfortable as a kid--like when Nancy Cristman kissed me, or when I saw my Dad looking scary in the bathroom with shaving cream all over his face, or when I really had to "go" badly in school and the teacher seemed to ignore me, or when I wanted to trade snacks desperately, or find just the right Father's Day card...and so these events seemed to naturally flow into poems--usually with some sort of funny ending.

And sometimes the endings aren't so funny, because life for kids is often not very humorous, like in "One Good Thing" when the kid's dad is yelling at him from the soccer game sideline. Fortunately, my dad was not that way. He was great. But as a coach, I've seen plenty of dads who are not too great at giving sideline support, and I feel really sorry for the kids of those dads. Many of my poems reflect the sadness and confusion that kids often feel.

Of course some of my poems, like "School Was a Real Zoo," are pure fantasy--things I'd love to have happen, but probably never would.

Then there are other poems of mine, like "Truthball" and "Air and Space Museum" where I write about wanting to have the power and knowledge to invent amazing things, so I can find out the truth about life. Of course, that's pretty much a long shot, but it's still fun to imagine.

If you have amazing events, people and feelings in your life, sometimes writing about them in a poem or a story is the very best way to share them, and feel better at the same time.

So get writing! And send me one of your poems for the For Kids page, where I publish and share bunches of awesome poems from kids from all over the world.

How many poems have you written?

I've written well over a thousand poems. Not all of them--in fact, most of them--never make it into books, but they are still lots of fun to write and share. Getting published is not as important thing for me as just writing.

I honestly hope I never stop writing. I have so many poems and stories inside me, shouting and screaming to get out, that it may take two hundred more years to get them all down on paper. My kids will have a very rickety, ancient old dad to take care of, but I'll still be having fun!

How long does it take to write a poem?

Sometimes a poem will flow right out of my pencil, all by itself, in minutes. But that's really rare. Usually, I'll start a poem one day, then I'll meet it again the next day to make some revisions. That's my favorite time-looking closely at every word in a poem draft to see if it's the absolute best possible word. We (the poem and I) might have 5 or 6 meetings over several weeks before the poem stands up and suddenly announces, "I'm done! Time for recess! Time for snack! Time to stretch your creaky back"

I guess, on average, it takes about a week to finish a poem. As you might imagine, I have many poems in progress at the same time. Whichever one shouts the loudest in the morning gets my attention. I like to work on collections of poems on a theme (like sports, or school, etc.) at a time so I keep more focused, but I don't always succeed if a noisy idea pops into my head demanding attention.

I try to finish one poem a day. That's my goal. I don't always achieve it, but it averages out that way. And how long do I write each day? Good question! Usually I try to write poems from 9:00 to Noon each day-you do the math. If I'm on the road, I write for a couple hours before dinner, then collapse.

How long does it take to get a poem published?

Far too long! There are many good writers out there trying to get the attention of many busy, overworked editors. I like to send poems out to magazines, and book editors who publish anthologies of many different poets, and it sometimes takes months to hear back from them. Once you hear them say "yes, we love your poems!" then it usually takes 1 to 3 years to get your poems published in a book.

The bottom line? It takes a lot of patience and hard work. But I'll never stop writing. And even if I'm not published as much as I'd like to be, it's the act of writing that is the most satisfying. I'm happiest when I finish a poem that I am proud of. I hope you feel that way too.

If you'd like to see an up-to-date list of the poetry anthologies, books and recordings I'm in, please click here.

Why do you write in the voice of kid?

Mostly because I'm just a kid at heart, and because that's just the way the words come out. I can't write any other way.

I truly believe the most important thing a kid (like me and you) can do is find his or her own voice as a writer. You have to share your opinions and feelings with somebody. So, write them down!

That's where poetry can be so wonderful. It's often easier to share feelings if you write a poem.

I definitely didn't do enough writing or sharing when I was growing up. As a kid, sometimes I felt like I didn't have a voice or an opinion that mattered. And I sure didn't have much confidence in sharing my thoughts.

So now, as a writer, my kid-voice is finally bursting out, and I'm sharing all my frustrations, giggles and sadness. And since I've been an elementary teacher for many years, I've seen a lot of other kids with similar problems, so I sometimes write to share their voices too.

Of course, as you know, if you do share your opinion, it's much more powerful if you are polite about it. Being bratty doesn't work too well with most grown-ups or friends, I discovered.

Where did you grow up?

I was born in Buffalo, NY, but like a lot of people I've met who come from Buffalo, my family moved away. (Buffalo gets too much snow in the winter!) After that, we lived all over the US map--in Pennsylvania, Alabama, Connecticut, Massachusetts and New Hampshire. More than anything, I guess I consider myself a New Englander, since I also lived in Rhode Island, spent some summers in Maine, and now live very happily with my family in Vermont. That pretty much covers New England, right?

Did you like school as a kid?

No sadly, to be honest, I really didn't like school very much. I was a fairly shy kid (funny, huh, since that's how my name is pronounced!) and I was kind of bored with school. Things came pretty easily for me, and I didn't work as hard as should have. I got poor effort and handwriting grades. I know because my Mom saved all my report cards. Thanks Mom.

But mostly I didn't like school because very few teachers seemed to take an interest in me. In fact, I remember clearly being yelled at, I mean really screamed at, by my 2nd grade teacher when I brought her in some flowers that I'd picked on my way to school. Okay, it turns out they weren't really flowers-they were goldenrod, a weed that a lot of people are allergic to. So guess what? She was allergic to them. And I was somehow supposed to know that. Well, that was the last time I ever brought a teacher anything, let me tell you!

I think that's why I became a teacher--I was sure I could do a better job than some of mine did.

Do you remember the very first rhyme you heard as a child?

The one that I remember most, from my mother, besides nursery rhymes she probably told me, was this silly little rhyme. It absolutely cracked me up. It still does. It goes like this:

Algie saw a bear.
The bear saw Algie.
The bear was bulgy.
The bulge was Algie.


Did you have any favorite books growing up?

I honestly don't remember too many books from my childhood, mostly because I wasn't much of a reader. That's very sad. I do recall loving Dr. Seuss books, mostly for the silly rhymes and rhythms. Also, libraries just didn't have as many good children's books (especially poetry) way back in the stone ages, as they have now. At least, that's the way I remember it. I certainly don't remember reading any poetry, except for Seuss-rhymes.

I did love the book, "My Father's Dragon" by Ruth Stiles Gannett. What wonderful adventures Elmer Elevator had on his island with his dragon. I dreamed of joining them. And I also was wild about "Homer Price" by Robert McClosky. especially when Homer couldn't turn off the donut machine

I also loved reading biographies of famous people and learning about what challenges they overcame in their lives. I had a classmate named Chris whose father was a children's author of biographies, so that helped too, especially when Chris brought me his dad's books for birthday presents. His dad's name sounded super cool-"A.B.C. Whipple."

How about hobbies?

I had tons of hobbies growing up--mostly having to do with sports. I loved to play soccer and baseball, and swim, sail and ski. At summer camp, I learned how to canoe, hike and camp, and I still do bunches of those things with my family.

I also did a lot of "alone" stuff as a kid. I especially loved to climb my favorite tall hemlock tree, and sit in the very tippy top branches, pretending I was the captain of a sailing ship zooming around the world, or the pilot of a plane. When I was up in my tree, no one could bother me there and tell me what to do. I was in charge of me, and the whole world, too.

I also sometimes went to the theater to see plays with my parents and my younger brother and older sister. I especially loved musicals--the way the songs wove breathtakingly funny rhymes all around bouncy melodies. I'm pretty certain that's why I write in a bouncy rhythm and rhyme style now.

For exercise, now, I do a lot of biking, cross-country skiing, hiking, canoeing, yoga, and sometimes I play tennis. When I need a quick break, I go for walks or short bike rides.

Why, oh why, is your name pronounced 'shy'?

My name, like my forebears, came from Germany, and I do know that in Germany they pronounce my name like 'shoy'. Now it's pronounced "shy" and I don't know why. That's about all I know. You figure it out. Am I shy? Yes, as a matter of fact I am, unless I'm with friends.

I wrote a very silly poem a few years ago about the pronunciation (and the mispronunciation) of my name. Here it is:

One Scheu Guy

I've never known quite what to do,
For all my life I've been a Scheu.
It really didn't matter who,
My teachers, or people from Kalamazoo,
I'd tell them one time, maybe two,
Sometimes I'd scream 'til I was blue,
And threaten to have my lawyer sue,
But none of them seemed to have a clue,
(Well, some got the message, but only a few.)
Hey, just between us, me and you,
I think their brains were full of glue.
Oh, yes, I agree, it looks like "shoe",
It's a name that one could misconstrue,
But I hope that you won't do it too.

"So, how do you say it?" I hear you cry.
"Please tell us and we'll all comply."
"I thought you'd never ask," says I.
Just listen, then just give it a try.
It's short and sweet and smooth as pie,
As gentle and soft as a lullaby,
It's as clear as a crystal, azure sky,
As quiet and quick as a butterfly.
(Hey, it's true, I never lie.)
Can you guess? Hey, you got it your very first try!
I knew you were smart, but I didn't know why.
Me? I can't say it. I'm that kind of guy.
I thought that perhaps you'd identify--
When it comes to pronouncing my name
I'm Scheu.

Of course, there's also my poem, "Help Me Please!" (it's on my CD) which is all about my frustration over having my name constantly mispronounced by people--especially teachers. I'm sure some of you know what I mean.

Where do you live now?

I live in the awesomely cool town of Middlebury, Vermont, in a cozy house on a beautiful, cow-cluttered (and smelly...from the cows) hillside, with my remarkable wife, my two totally amazing kids, and our dog Fudge. (Can you guess what color she is? Right! She's a 8-year old chocolate lab.) Actually, my son and daughter are away at college, so it's quieter, and way lonelier.

I love Vermont. Life is just a little slower here, and that makes it easier to get to my writing. It also makes it easier to escape from my writing, too! If I want to go hiking, or biking, or skiing, I can just slide right out my back door. Fudge and I go for lots of walks and ball chases. I throw; she chases.

Is it true you were once a classroom teacher?

Yes. I taught for a bunch of years--grades K through 5-here in Vermont. And I loved it... mostly. But, as a teacher, I was so busy doing teachery-stuff I wasn't able to find time to do any writing. So I left my full-time teaching job about ten years ago, so I could express my kid-voice in my writing.

Of course, I still teach. Some of you know that, because I've come to your school. I love to travel around to schools all over the world, doing workshops and assemblies. So now, I'm more of a traveling teacher, sharing my love for poems, and helping kids find their writer's voices in poetry. Click right here if you'd like for information about my School Programs.

In addition to having been a teacher, I've also been an officer in the Navy, a banker, an advertising executive and ad writer, and a carpenter. That's all part of a very long and mostly boring story that I won't get into now!

What's the biggest adventure you've ever had?

There have been many--I'm lucky--but two stand out strongly in my memory.

At age 15 ( I was pretty big and strong for my age) I got a summer job on a 58-foot sailboat that raced across the Atlantic Ocean from Rhode Island to Ireland. That was every bit as exciting as I had hoped (and as you can imagine), and I hope to be able to write a kid's book about the experience someday soon. I was smart enough to keep a journal, to help me remember. It was very hard work--the sailing part--and even quite scary at times.

The second big adventure happened more recently, when I joined a team of friends--all more experienced mountain climbers than me--to climb 14,410-foot high Mt. Rainier, in Washington State. It was a two-day climb, very hard work, using ropes and all that climbing gear you need to be safe, but the reward of watching the sunrise from the top of a sleeping volcano was spectacular! I'd love to do it again someday...maybe!

Putting this web site together was a pretty cool adventure too. But I don't want to do it again anytime soon either, thanks very much.

One last question for now... Did Nancy Cristman really kiss you?

This, believe it or not, is the question I get asked the most, especially by 1st and 2nd graders.

Yes, I promise you, she did. I remember exactly the spot of grass on somebody's front lawn (and the spot on my right cheek) where it happened. It was in my home town of Old Greenwich, Connecticut, as Nancy and I were walking to school, just like the poem says. It was like a bolt of lightning, I was so surprised.

And no, I didn't marry Nancy Cristman. She married someone else, and I heard the very sad news a few years ago that Nancy Cristman became very sick and died. So I think of her whenever I read that poem, and I know, somewhere, Nancy Cristman is smiling about it. If you want to read or hear the poem, it's on my CD and in the CD Poems page of this web site. Just click here!

That's it for now...but...

If you have any more questions, please send them to me by e-mail), or by snail mail at:

  Ted Scheu
  P.O. Box 564
  Middlebury, VT 05753

I can't promise I'll be able to respond to every letter and question, but I'll try. Maybe I'll post your question, and my answer, here on my web site!

And don't forget, you can send me one of your poems too. I'd love to read it, and if I have time, I'll send you back a few comments, and maybe even post your poem on my "Kids Poems" page.

One Good Thing

Oh, please stop shouting at me, coach,
I'm doing the best I can.
You've screamed at me, with angry words,
since this game began.

I'm tired of being yelled at,
and told I'm playing wrong.
I'm doing what you taught me, but
I guess I'm not that strong.

Can't you think of anything
I'm doing well today?
I'm sure there must be one good thing
that you can find to say...?

Say my shirt looks great tucked in,
I don't have breakfast on my chin,
I put my socks on like I should,
and when I sweat, the drips look good.

Say you like my buzz-cut hair,
I'm super-great at breathing air.
Say 'nice try', when I miss the ball,
I look like a pro when I slip and fall.

Say my smile is a winning one,
after all...

I am your son.

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School Was a Real Zoo

"What a bunch of animals!"
my teacher cried last week.
"Where have all your manners gone?"
He shook as he tried to speak.

"You howl and screech when I'm talking to you--
I've had about all I can take.
If you keep acting like savages,
it would be an enormous mistake!"

When Jillian giggled, well, that was it,
he snapped and began to unglue.
With a wave of his chalk, and some strange sounding words,
the class turned into a zoo!

In a flash, the room looked different,
And it certainly didn't look good.
Wrapping around us, from ceiling to floor,
were bars where walls had stood!

I took a look at my classmates,
and couldn't believe my eyes;
Suddenly, they were all wild beasts
of every conceivable size!

Heather was now a hyena,
who cackled a laugh at me.
And Jodie was swinging with Georgia,
by her tail from the branch of a tree.

Most of the boys were gorillas--
they grunted and pounded their chests.
And Kim, Kate and Kelsey were furious birds,
shrieking from high in their nests.

I noticed that Mike was a hippo,
and somehow that seemed just right.
He happily rolled in the mud in the corner,
grinning with wild delight.

Zoe resembled a zebra,
with stripes all wild and free,
And Anthony's huge anaconda coils
were wrapped around a big tree.

A mongoose was up on the counter--
it looked like Megan to me.
She was fighting with Jake, a big cobra-like snake,
and Ralph was the referee.

I laughed at a couple of dingoes--
I think they were David and Drew.
Then I looked down, and noticed with horror
that I was a dingo too!

Slinking around the closet door,
with shining, scissory smiles,
Came Kirsten and Christina--
two hungry crocodiles.

Then Gregory growled, from under the desk,
his eyes and teeth bright as knives;
When he batted the air with razor claws,
we wanted to run for our lives.

The school bell rang, and kids looked in
from outside of the bars.
Their eyes were bigger than burger buns
as they headed for buses and cars.

We spent a long night in our jungle cage,
feeling hungry and missing our beds.
Mr. Darwin had given us plenty of time
for his message to sink in our heads.

When he came into school the next morning
and turned us back into kids,
it doesn't take a genius
to imagine just what we all did.

We ran to our teacher and hugged him,
promised never again to berate him.
And then, in a moment of quiet joy...
we ripped him to pieces and ate him!

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TruthBall

This weekend,
since it's supposed to rain,
I'm going to stay in my room
and invent the first TruthBall.

When I hold it with both hands over my head,
and look deeply into its swirling spy-glass center,
it will tell me things no one else knows.

Things that will happen.
Things that are the truth.

I might ask it
who committed famous unsolved crimes, or
what tomorrow's lottery number will be, or
who's going to win the World Series, or
is there life in outer space, or
will my little sister always be a pest, or
is my teacher human, or
how long I will live, or
if Sara Smithers likes me, or
who I will marry someday.

But I won't ask my TruthBall any of those things.

I just want to know

who stole my bike?

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Air and Space Museum

My private Air and Space Museum's
opening next week.
If you would like, I'll let you in
to have a little peek.

Just step inside this empty room--
please, go ahead and stare,
As you enjoy the lovely space
and breathe the awesome air.

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Help Me, Please!

Help me, please,
my knees are jiggling,
all the girls
around are giggling.
Everywhere
my skin is sweating,
and I think
my pants are wetting.
Need to keep
my hands from shaking,
not to mention
stomach quaking.
Eyes are glazey,
heart is pounding,
lips are very
funny sounding.
Throat is drying,
brain is spinning,
I am trying--
but not winning.

This shouldn't be so hard, and yet,
it always feels the same.
I hate correcting teachers when
they mispronounce my name.

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Nancy Cristman Kissed Me

Nancy Cristman kissed me
as we walked to school today.
It happened fast, and I was lost
with what to do or say.

I quickly looked around to check
if anyone had seen it.
If they did, and tease me,
they?ll be sorry, and I mean it.

Why did Nancy Cristman put
that smack upon my cheek?
I'm so confused, and probably
will stay this way all week.

I'll guess I'll have to marry her,
and share my lemonade.
A lot can happen to a kid
who walks to second grade.

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