Pagan Limericks

A virile young witch from Pine Bluff
Thought rituals were never enough
When wrapped up in clothes
Shirt, tie, pants and bows
So he practiced his craft in the buff

So this witch - one Henry by name
Felt solitaire his type of game
He leapt and he sprung
To songs he gave tongue
And the view from the rear brought him fame

A Dianic group in St. Croix
Believed men were no source of joy
So the God in the fall
Was not there at all
But was played by a lesbian named Roy

This coven that hated men's sass
Were trancing while out in the grass
The power they raised
Let them see a long ways
And they spotted the young Henry's ass.

The coven heard Henry sing
And the 13 saw his tush swing
It gave them pause
Then sufficient cause
To re-enact the rite of Corn King

A mighty cone they did raise
Young Henry was caught - in a daze
His ritual left him
His senses bereft him
Amid powerful visions of maize.

And then the Fairies did come
No voices - alas, they were dumb
They, too, on a quest
For a Pan who would jest
Then lo, they spied Henry's bum.

Now the Gardnerians out in Peru
Cried, "Forsooth, this never will do
For he practices bare
With nary a care
He therefore belongs to us too."

Old Crowley alone in his grave
Turned over and started to rave,
"What's this come to pass?
You're playing grab ass
And starting to practice deprave."

Then Gaia, the quarreling awoke
"What's this going on with my folk?
Three covens and a mage
Want bum center stage
Have you garnered consensus from the bloke?"

So together as one they all came
To celebrate Life and the Name
Of Goddess and God
Nuts, sweet fruit, and pod
But Henry went home just the same.

There once was a coven of nine
Who spent a whole night in a pine
They fell into trances
While sitting on branches
And sipping mulberry wine.

This coven, not known for their brain
Forgot to come out of the rain
And all through the night
their spirits took flight
While humming a Starhawk refrain.

They visited Napal and Tibet
The wisdom of the Llama to get
But the Dahli was away
to speak in Bombay
So they spoke at length to his pet.

- by Liath Mactire