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  • Brief Bio

    Lester Smith is a 2-term past president of the WFOP, a 4-time Origins-winning game designer, and a former JavaScript teacher for the HWG. He works days as a Writer/Technologist for the educational publishing house Sebranek Inc, nights and weekends as president of Popcorn Press.

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  • D6xD6 RPG

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  • Other Card Games…

    Monster Con card game
    Invasion of the Saucer People card game
    Wolf Man's Curse card game
  • Suggested Reading

  • Undying Games

    Dark Conspiracy roleplaying game
    now by 3Hombres
    Dragon Dice game
    now by SFR Inc.
  • Cons I’m Attending

  • Poetry

    George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron ByronIn 1985, a British Romantic Period Literature class changed my life. The poetry of Byron, Shelley, and Keats wakened in me a passion for writing. I determined to somehow make a career of it—and somehow feed my children.

    Since then I’ve worked exclusively in publishing, first for game companies, now in education. I also continue to write, study, and promote poetry. It’s my opinion that poetry used to belong to the people, until academics stole it. It’s high time to steal it back from them.

    Lady of Pain

    Lester : November 27, 2014 12:24 am : Game Design, Poetry
    Spellfire: Weasel Attack

    Lady of Pain
    (for Adam White)

    “You guys are jerks,” Steve says. A dawning haze

    of horror fills his eyes. I lay more cards. He’s

    still. I raise his champion to highs

    he never dreamed, then steal it, turn it, hose

    his few remaining troops. Ken laughs, says, “Who’s

    your daddy?” fans his hand, leans back, and weighs

    his options. Steven says, “You’ve made a weasel

    game out of my baby!” Ken cracks wise,

    replies, “She never loved you. And your woes

    have just begun,” then spanks him till he’s woozy.

    —Lester Smith

    more »

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    First Poet on Mars

    Lester : November 25, 2014 3:08 pm : Poetry
    MFL Mars Base ERV and MTSV

    First Poet on Mars

    When I was young, and loved a stirring tale,
    science seemed simpler. Vast canals of teal
    crisscrossed the Martian sands; forts in red tile
    crowded the shores; and merchant ships paid toll
    to row those waters, their holds full of tulle
    and thyme. Or so we dreamed. But in the stale
    air of this dead world, among these steel
    domes, I’m breathless, grasping for a style
    to speak an arid truth: that science stole
    my box of dreams to use as its footstool.

    —Lester Smith

    (originally published in Verse Wisconsin 104)

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    Last Flight of a Vickers Gun Bus Pilot

    Lester : November 22, 2014 1:51 pm : Poetry
    Vickers Gun Bus

    Last Flight of a Vickers Gun Bus Pilot

    Arthur’s knights took horse and squire to slay
    their foes. I ride a bloody kite; a silly
    boy up front to man my gun. The sly
    Boche fly Eindeckers today. This slow
    F.B.9 can’t pace them as they slue

    from side to side, shooting our wings to lace.
    And now my gunner’s tendered up his lease
    on life. I’d land, but Jerry’s thick as lice
    below. A passing Hun laughs, “Vas ist los?”
    arcs back, and turns his twin-mount Spandaus loose.

    —Lester Smith

    (originally published in Verse Wisconsin 104)

    Leave a response »


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