I'm having a little trouble with the scansion of this poem. Just take the meter of the first three stanzas:

6.8.7.7
7.8.7.9
9.7.7.7

This really doesn't conform to any recognized metrical pattern.

Similarly, the foot moves from the iamb in the first line to the anapest in the second, which may be the poet's deliberate attempt to wrong-foot us.

Anyway, the narrative is funny, but I almost pissed myself trying to follow the rhythm.

Dumpster: wow.

Not being much of a literary critic, I liked the poem. The horror of sharting in one's sleep! I thought that all of the digestive things shut down while you sleep: burping, farting, shitting... apparently not. Falling out of bed is not the only nighttime hazard...

C'mon Dumpster. Just read it for what it is.

Jesus Dumpie, get a grip man. It`s just a nice, amusing, gentle little poem - not an entry in a highbrow technical poetry contest.

I liked this poem. It is ingenious, and funny.

I could picture the wife lying in her filth, raking her brain, as to how she could get out of her situation, without blowing her cover. Then she realized, that there was no way, that in order to clean up, her husband would have to be woken up. Expecting the worst, she wakes him. Much to her surprise, he thinks that what happened to her is funny.
_______
"-55F, a new record low? Nope, thermometer went bad. Looks like -50F still stands"

...but doesn't remember it the next morning! Best of both worlds, apparently. It makes you wonder what was wrong with Sharp Shitter, though, that she loaded up the bed quite that heavily.

I'm REALLY glad that I'm a very light sleeper after reading this poem. I've gotten up in the middle of the night to poo before, but normally I think your guts kind of slow down when you sleep. Maybe SS just is a heavy sleeper? Geez, my husband gets grossed out when I accidentally fart around him...wonder what he'd do if I crapped in the bed? I hope I never find out.

_______
An apple a day keeps the ExLax away!

I summoned strength to tell it all
to my little turtledove,
"What's this?", I yelled, "You don't recall?!?
Last night, you shat the bed, my love!"

Sharp Shitter, I am terribly, terribly sorry to do this, but I just could not accomplish any more work today until I played Thomas Wentworth Higginson to your Emily Dickinson. The most significant change is in the eleventh stanza, where I had to alter lines b and d to end in a trochee, as do all the rest.

Again, please forgive me. I loved the story, and especially the surprise ending!

One night while I was sleeping
After a taxing day
I had this awful feeling
I’d never felt this way

At nine AM: awake again
I heard the toilet seat
His first words were, to my relief,
“When did you change the sheets?"

Hey Dumpster,
Are you, by chance, my 9th grade english teacher, Mrs. Bangstad??

_______
Holy skid marks Batman!

No, Your Majesty, I didn't have Mrs. Bangstad until the 11th grade. As you can tell, she rode me pretty hard, too, as did Miss Grundy in the 12th.

So the husband was sleep walking when he discovered you had shat the bed? I am slightly confused here. OR his reaction was to laugh in that case hes A KEEPER!
_______
The Thunderous Crapper 63 Enjoying home toilet advantage since 2004!

Here I sit drawers discarded
Tried to fart instead I sharted

Very nice, Sharp. I have to ask. did this really happen?

You poop the bed, get him to help you clean up, and he doesn't even remember? What luck!

If I ever shat the bed I think Mr. Shitwit would NEVER get over it. Although there have been plenty of times he's woken me up to ask what I'd like him to do with his soiled drawers when a midnight shart has snuck up on him. I usually grumble something like "throw them in the trash, I don't care." I'd really rather not be the one to have to clean them or discover them on laundry day two seconds too late (like when they've been tossed in the washer and the water begins to dislodge some of the mud and turn the water and any nearby clothing brown.)

This is a nifty little poem, Sharp Shiter. Please don't be put off by Dumpster's anal retentiveness.

_______
Rock-n-roll! Poopy-poo!

...or by Shitwit's inability to spell your name correctly. ;-)

I say the poem's pretty good- kind of a nouveau poem dealing with the everyday problems of women. I mean ladies: which one of us hasn't sharted the sheets and tried to hide it from our mate? I mean, it really just talks to you.

_______
Don't be playin' with the Queen of Sharts

The Queen of Sharts wrote:

I mean ladies: which one of us hasn't sharted the sheets and tried to hide it from our mate?

Well, Your Highness, I was married for some 20 years, and, although I passed through many dangers, toils, and trials, THAT, thankfully, was never one I had to deal with!

True art follows no preconceived pattern, but pours from the heart...or maybe the soul...certainly, in this instance, from regions farther south.

A good argument for Depends, don't you think?

I love Hermione, and all that, but at my age, if your Significant Other craps in the bed, you start thinking about Assisted Living, dontcherknow?

May I note that the abovegoing post may mark the zenith of the PR demographic?

It will, of course, take an anthropologist to explain this.

Wow, Sharp Shitter!
That poo-em was pretty darn amazing! I've never encountered anyone who could write a poem that long. I take my hat off to you.
It reminds me of a time when I was 7 or 8 when I dreamt I was taking a tremendous leak. As fate would have it, my dream quickly became a reality.
--------------------------------------------
save a horse, ride a tractor!!!1!!!!2!

Yes it realy happend. I wanted to get it out there and the way it worked was a poem. I am no where near as gifted as some of you. Anyways, I will be sure to consider all this contructive insight next time I make a go at it.

_______
Sharp Shitter-Signing off

that happens to me all the time... not the shitting my self while asleep, but not remembering what happens in the 5 minute window of being woken up late at night then going back to bed.

Sorry for all the liberties I took with Mr Poe's work.

Once upon a midnight dreary,
While I pondered red-eyed and bleary
Over many a quaint and curious Poopreport of Yore,
Suddenly my bowels were scrapping,
Like a small dog nervously yapping,
About to blow mud out my back door.
Only shit and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly now I recall, a drizzly day in the late fall.
Each rumble of bowel echoed across the kitchen floor.
Desperately I wished the morrow, After the onslaught of abdominal sorrow
Some immodium I could borrow, borrow from the guy next door.
I had to shit now even more.

Through the hall way I frantically tore,
A bulge in the back of my shorts I bore,
This is gotta be a foot long or more.
Damn my ass will be so sore.

Frenzied to the crapper I ran,
flipped on the light and exhaust fan, While dropping my butt on the can.
To shit from now til forever more.
Why am I such a greasy food whore?
Eat at McDonald's? Nevermore.

AC, this was also the subject of Mad Lib III on the forums last year:

THE RAVEN by Edgar Allen Poo a/k/a Di Uhreea:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I finished, purgative and weary,
Over many a fart-inducing and cross-eyed volume of supercilious lore,
While I spanked, nearly napping, eye-poppingly there came a tapping,
As of some one onomatopoeically rapping, rapping at my lanai room door.
"'Tis some coital partner," I muttered, "tapping at my lanai room door
Only this, and nothing more."
Holy crap, indubitably I remember it was in the abominable December,
And each earth-shattering dying ember wrought its double-jointed midget hooker upon the floor.
Felchworthy I wished the morrow; colonically I had tried to borrow
From my laxatives surcease of sorrow; sorrow for the lost Lenore
For the rare and gwisdalian trashcanman whom the poopreporters name Lenore
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken orgasmic uncertain flatulating of each crimson curtain
Thrilled me; filled me with fantastic discombobulation never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my vas deferens, I stood repeating
"'Tis some coital partner entreating entrance at my lanai room door
Some garlic-breathed coital partner entreating entrance at my lanai room door;
This it is, and nothing more."

THE END

I can't help but think your liquidy mess would have seeped into the mattress. I hope you would have done more than just change the sheets and I'm sure you must have. This is a true nightmare, not just a mindbender. Blowing chunks on myself in bed gives me an idea of your plight. I would have had the same response as your husband. Wish I had met you first. But there's still room for someone else who doesn't mind spliting the ass paper cost.

What's so funny 'bout poop, love, and understanding?

If this poem were distributed in print it would be printed in a double quilted roll. Shitty poem.

well that was A great poem!! I myself often write poetry in a similiar Arythmic kind of way
Kudos to you!!! now this is not a poem I know and it's a little over a page long, but bears no resemblance to anything real or imagined nor is it a poem, it's a short fictional poop- fiction I wrote just the other day: (it's about 1 -2 pages long)...
(somewhat Spell checked version:)
Here is a Poop - Fiction short story I recently wrote: hope you enjoy it, please make any comments, but no attacking or comments meant to be hurtful please and if you can think of a better more fitting title I would greatly appreciate it thanks.. here it is :
Title: A Rather Strange Dinner invitation or: "till death do we part?? nah!"
a story by John Robert Von Einem written and revised : 2007 February 12th.
copy-written 2007 February 12th , all rights reserved...

A Man Receives a dinner invitation from an unknown Benni-factor,
apparently for 'business' purpose, with promises of Great wealth and fortune.
The man arrives at the appointed time and place and sees a great feast
before him with all manner of fine food, but no-one else is in sight.
"where are you?" the man asks,
"aren't you going to share this dinner with me?, what the heck is going on,
and what is this business off you have to make with me,
that I may become 'Rich Beyond Compare'?"
And an Alien voice answers " I was Already here, waiting for you,
so glad you could stop by for diner and I shall thoroughly enjoy eating you
over and over again, until the end of time."
"For you my friend are the main course, I have drugged the food you just ate
so that you cannot flee, nor will you ever be able to die, I hope you will enjoy
sharing this meal with me as I will. I hope that you will enjoy this pain
you are about to feel, as much as I will enjoy the delicious taste of your flesh,
as it fills me up and the contented feeling of my "being full" with that he says:
" may the God of the Universe bless this meal which I am about to eat"
soon after this , a large WORM - LIKE object (actually an alien creature)
comes seemingly out of nowhere, from the sky above; it looks non-descript
basically formless with a large opening, big enough to take in a fully grown
man whole in 'one gulp' it appears to have teeth, but the creature doesn't use them.
It prefers to swallow it's prey whole.
The man , terrified, tries to move, tries to run, to get away, but he cannot.
The mouth decends over him, swallowing him whole....
soon he reaches the stomach where the intense acid sears his flesh, and
turns the man into a liquid goo like / soup like substance (of proteins vitamins
nutrients carbohydrates minerals etc. and WASTE.)
this all takes about one month and is Excrutiatingly painful.
as the man begins his journey ... to becoming ... Excrement.
Yet he does not die.
Next he travels through the alien beasts small intestines
gradually becoming more and more solid and more and more
Excrement and waste, as all that is good for nutrition and food
gets absorbed away.
the man does not feel as much pain at this point, perhaps a little,
but he can feel all that he was being slowly adsorbed away, as he is becoming
A SHIT.
6 months later:
The Man - now Shit goes through the large intestine,
still getting drained of nutrients and water, becoming a firmer stool.
after 9 months in total he reaches the colon at this point the man ( or should I say shit)
is indistinguishable from a Turd, a Shit, a Human Sized Log of CRAP.
at about exactly 12 months he reaches the anus or bung hole of the alien creature.
as he/it is being crapped out a skin pulls over him/it and the hairs from the alien butt - hole
forms hair on it's (the Crap that was once a man) body and head...
as The Crap comes out as if being born.
How this all happens, is a mystery still, even to this day, but it has happened, and is true...
after which the Crap says to the alien "hey why did you swallow me? that was not nice,
it HURT, and now look at me!!! I'M CRAP, a piece of shit wrapped up in some weird kind of
Alien Skin with butt - hole hairs for hair on my head and body"
then he adds, "and what about the money you were offering me?"
the alien produces a large sum of cash, gold and Precious gems, and the alien says:
"here, as promised... Take all this and spend it well, enjoy , have fun, but you are now MINE,
when it is time for me to eat again, then you must feed me,
you cannot Run or hide, there is no place that you can go where I wont be able to find you"
the SHIT who was once a man then took the money and gold and gems.
He spent it on Food, and wine and women, and fancy cars, and all the finer things in life...
and he tries to run away from his fate, and from the alien, but finds that he cannot
escape his fate, and he sighs; "what's a shit that has been eaten, once a man, Now a shit, eaten and shit -ed, by an alien, only to be eaten and shit -ed again and again to do?"
then he lay down, dead tired, but not dead, the alien licking his one big huge man sized mouth,
with his Huge grotesque alien tongue, swallows up the man again,
and again and again... ad infinitum.
Each time the man/Shit experiencing the same excrutiating pain of the aliens intensely acidic
stomach and the release of all that is nutritionally good for food,
and the collecting together all that which is else, excrement and waste, into solidity and becoming
that waste and excrement ever so much more... and each time new skin and hair are replaced,
only to be eaten , again and again, until the end of time... "until death do we part" whispers the alien...
and since that SHIT who's was once a man long long ago, now never dying, that he is forever bound
to the alien, to be food for the alien, forever.....
- The END -