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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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  • Current Project:

  • Fencing Poker Deck

  • 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.

    Kooser Said He’s Had His Fill

    Lester Smith : December 9, 2012 11:43 am : Announcements, Poetry

    for Raymond P. Hammond

    Kooser said he’s had his fill of poetry,
    couldn’t bear to cross the hall if Homer
    came back from the dead to read—no more
    than for John Keats his ode on Grecian pottery.

    What could make our laureate portray
    for centuries of verse such frank ennui,
    forget his post, invent himself anew?
    (He said that kid’s books are his next priority.)

    What provokes a poet leave his worship,
    turn a deaf ear to his muse, and so forth?
    Can a poet’s blood become diluted?
    By degrees a sea of college workshops
    still churn out a flood of verse, a froth
    of ink. Is our old laureate deluded?

    —Lester Smith

    Creative Commons License
    Kooser Said He’s Had His Fill by Lester Smith is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

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    Cthulhu Haiku Is Shipping!

    Lester Smith : November 1, 2012 9:08 am : Announcements, Poetry, Popcorn Press

    The Kickstarter campaign for Cthulhu Haiku and Other Mythos Madness is now officially over, and I’m happy to say it was a great success! Thanks to everyone who submitted material, and to everyone who backed the project. We’ve begun shipping books to backers, and contributor copies and payment will start soon (probably on Sunday, after I return from the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets conference, where—hey!—I’ll have copies to display!).

    The end of the Kickstarter campaign doesn’t mean the end of Cthulhu Haiku, of course. The book is now for sale on Amazon in both print and ebook formats, along with Vampyr Verse, The Hungry Dead, and Halloween Haiku. Or you can pick them up from Popcorn Press, if you like.

    Again, thanks for all the support, everyone. On to other projects!


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    A Last Peek: For Halloween

    Lester Smith : October 31, 2012 12:53 pm : Announcements, Poetry, Popcorn Press

    Happy Halloween! Popcorn Press‘s annual month-long party ends today within the pages of Cthulhu Haiku and Other Mythos Madness. Here’s one last preview—a masterful poem by Michael Fantina—to provide an idea of what lurks inside, waiting just for you.


    On islands where the sun is masked,
    Where only gauzy ghosts are drawn,
    In dreams I’m there and somehow tasked
    To mark its skies of cinnamon.

    Upon its shore strong vines there clasp
    An inlaid chest whose oak is wan,
    With only one frail rusty hasp,
    Shaped like a long-necked crimson swan.

    With ease the ancient hasp I break,
    To find a tome that sports thereon
    A crafty coiling silver snake,
    With this word: Necronomicon.

    My eyes transfixed I stare and stare
    I turn its leaves of thin chiffon,
    They’ve weathered well the stagnant air
    Coated with basilicon.

    Before me now the wyvern’s kiss
    Soon coaxed me toward her nameless spawn,

    I prayed to leave that black abyss,
    To Mithra, Ra, Bellerophon.

    My fingers turn, yet hesitate,
    These pages printed in Oman,
    more »

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