Skip to main content

At the Art Gallery ~ a Poem

John has loved art since school when he won various art awards. He has studied Commercial Art and has done advertising illustrations.

Blackbutt - a Strange Name for a Town

Blackbutt is a rural town and locality in the South Burnett Region, Queensland, Australia, 115 km north-west of Brisbane and situated at the north-eastern end of the Blackbutt Range. In the 2016 census, Blackbutt had a population of 836 people.

European settlement in the Blackbutt area began in 1842 when the Scott family established Taromeo Station. In 1887, the Scott family ceded land to found both Blackbutt and its neighbouring town of Benarkin. Farms were established in the area and the discovery of gold in the area in the late 19th century led to population growth in the town.

Blackbutt gets its name from the Eucalyptus pilularis, commonly known as "blackbutt", a common tree of the family Myrtaceae native to south-eastern Australia which is one of Australia's most important hardwoods. The rough bark at the tree base is often charred black from past bush fires. Blackbutt is 'half bark, which means it has rough, fibrous bark on the lower trunk with the upper trunk and branches normally being smooth and whitish to yellow in colour.

The timber industry played an important role in the development of the town, and Blackbutt, Benarkin and the nearby town of Yarraman are often collectively referred to as the "Timber Towns." The terms "Timbertown" and "Timbertowners" feature in the name of many local businesses and sporting teams.

This is a random poem,

That has nothing real to say

No important purpose does it serve

Than to help me pass the day.

I wait here at the gallery

Hoping that something sells

The town sits atop a famous range

Where bell-bird ring their bell.

The town called Blackbutt

An ever popular drive through

Along the way to other destinations

That appeal to travellers too.

This poem has a pattern

Just in case you didn’t notice.

This illustrates how bored I feeling.

Nothing to excite or to entice.

Attempting to stay awake

I decide to take a stroll nearby.

The bakery located along the street

Makes its world-famous pies.

The hours move by slowly,

Customers extremely scarce

Each hour drags by, and I’ll reflect

On what my life means to me.

The art gallery is situated

In the very centre of the town

Not too far one way up main street

And not too far moving down.

The art inside it is diverse,

Like glass, leather and wood,

Many paintings, fabric art and yarn,

The variety’s extremely good.

There is work in progress

On the street outside the door,

All new drainage is being installed,

As I am struggling not to snore.

I make wifey a cup of tea

Though coffee’s more my style.

Then charge the iPad up once more

And I surf the Internet awhile.

A watched clock’s hands

Won’t move, ‘til you look away.

How will I gainfully entertain myself

For the remainder of this day?

The shop door is opened,

We have two customers at last.

One buys a blown-glass love heart,

And the other, a face-mask.

That may be it for the day,

Though business wasn’t great.

But the art gallery must be manned,

It’s like hooking fish with bait.

I pull down the “open” sign,

Then lock up the gallery doors.

My wife sits down to balance books,

And we’re out of here by four.

We head home once more.

© 2022 John Hansen

Related Articles