The Port of Dreams

I once had a special friend at school,

His name was Daniel Hare,

He would dream through maths and geometry

For his mind was never there,

I would nudge him in the ribs each time

That the teacher turned to look,

And slide my hand across, to turn

To the right page, in his book.

 

He’d get this distant look in his eyes

And slump back into his seat,

And tell me then at the break, he’d been

In Ireland, digging peat,

He’d roam the great Canadian Plains,

Was there at Austerlitz,

And hid in a London cellar with

His mother during the Blitz.

 

The only subject he really loved

Was the study of history,

And then he’d sit on the edge of his seat

Enthralled at the mystery,

But Physics, Maths and Biology

He said, was leaving him cold,

He’d rather be there with Francis Drake

On a search for Spanish gold.

 

We went our separate ways, of course,

I didn’t see him for years,

Then came on him in a boarding house

Where he’d suffered some reverse,

His life, he said, was a shambles, he

Could never hold down a job,

His mind had continued to wander

From Berlin, and to Cape Cod.

 

His eyes were sunken, his skin was grey

I noted his sallow cheeks,

‘I dream too much in the day,’ he said,

‘And I just can’t get to sleep.’

I walked with him in a lonely cove

Where the moonlight shed its beams,

‘I need to find me a ship,’ he said,

‘And sail to the Port of Dreams.’

 

I asked him why he never had met

And married a local girl,

He said he’d met a girl in his dreams

But she didn’t live in the world.

‘She waits for me on the other side

Of a wide and windswept Bay,

Not in this life of broken dreams,

She leaves at the break of day.

 

A week went by and a storm came in,

He wasn’t there by the stove,

I made my way in the pouring rain

Where his footsteps led, to the cove,

I found him sat, his back to a rock

With a wild, unseeing stare,

And knew he’d gone to follow a dream

As the sea spray soaked him there.

 

For out in the bay a Barquentine

Had pitched and tossed in the storm,

A ghostly lantern hung from the mast

As the spars and the timbers groaned,

A figure clung to the foredeck yards

And waved as the wind had screamed,

While the barque turned west where the sun had set

And sailed for the Port of Dreams.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Leyla Hess]

I will thank whatever strange fate brought me here. It is a rare thing to see time treated in such a way, to have our perceptions of it be so abused in a manner that is (ironically) so in tune with time's own physical reality. I had the pleasure yesterday of speaking with David Wellbery, a scholar of Goethe at the University of Chicago, on aesthetics, and I have arrived at the tenuous conclusion that the goal of art and the aesthetic process is to allow us a brief insight into the otherwise inaccessible process of Nature (or God, if you'd like). Such process unfolds in what we know as time; yet, physics informs us that time is a unity, an actuality, not merely a line which we trace from past to present. Past, present, history, future, all exist axially--beyond and perpendicular to our three dimensions of space. If art is to engage process, to engage time, it then allows us an insight--however brief--into a higher dimension, in the most literal sense of the word. How strange it must be for us, then, to speak of history, to speak of the past. Surely your friend--who longs for a dreamy reality higher than our own, borne to him upon the waves of storm, upon the precipice of the chaotic--has tapped into this truth. There is so much at stake here. Truly, a phenomenal piece.

[Cryingkate]

How did I come here quite a while ago and not see that which i wished to see?
I wandered to other pages and mingled in several void lanes, then became void and by one happened right click found you again and am now eating at the smorgasbord.
I'm dumbfounded.

[BlackRose]

Got me in a daydream reading this wonderful piece. We all daydream from time to time. More so in the hopes one day whatever they are ting about will come true.

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Another great tale...love to read your stories...

[Arrinae]

I too find myself lost in the visions of another plain, be it in a daydream or actual sleep. I only wish I could find the words to record that which I have seen in a way that others would not deem insane.

This is a very well written peace and I so enjoyed reading it. Thank you for sharing it with me.

[Baby Ricochet]

Great story. Te character seemed like a schitzophrenic. They can't tell the difference between what's real and what's going on in their heads.

[Marie]

Some people just were not meant for this world. I am glad Daniel sailed for his Port of Dreams.

[Claire in VA]

Delightful read. This is poetry at its best.
I am a huge fan of such rhythm.
Great story as well.
I dont know how I ended up here,
but I'm glad I did. I look forward
to reading more of your work.
~Much-enjoyed by Claire

[m.s.early]

I continually enjoy to read your work. Your rhymes and meter are impeccable. Your stories are intelligent and captivating. I'm disappointed at the end only because it's over and there's not another stanza to read. I satiate myself by reading it again. Thank you for contributing your work here. You are greatly appreciated. :)