Christopher Haywood Poet Narrative

Notes About The Poem

There will always be ongoing struggle of democracy.

The Weight of a Stone

White stone for favor, black stone for guilt,
It is the bedrock of choice upon which we have built.
In fifth-century Athens, the citizens came,
To cast down their pebbles and enter the game.
In Athens they voted with clay or with beans,
By filling up jars to decide what it means.
Though "spilling the beans" is a myth we mistake,
The secrets of voters were heavy to break.
Middle Ages saw Venice adopt the same art,
To pick state officials and set them apart.
The ballotta of Venice, a ball small and round,
Is where our modern word "ballot" was found.
Borne over the waves to a new western shore, 
The custom found life behind liberty's door. 
Then nineteenth-century fellowships grew, 
Where Masons and clubs chose new members they knew.
A box with an opening, hidden from sight,
Concealed every hand in the dark of the night.
A single black marble, a single dark choice,
Could completely silence a candidate's voice.
Anonymous judgment, entirely erased,
Left hopeful applicants banned and disgraced.
And so "blackballed" lingered, a phrase from the past,
Whenever a person is shunned or outcast.
Now ballots by millions are dropped in the mail,
A modern adjustment on history's scale.
Yet shadows of doubt over custody rise,
Of unverified hands and of fraudulent eyes;
As paper drifts far from the traditional booth,
We struggle to balance convenience and truth.
From stones in an urn to the clubs of old fame;
A tiny dark pebble gave exile its name.

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