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.
At the Art Gallery
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