Kilcommon (Irish: Cill Chomáin) is a civil parish in Erris, north Mayo consisting of two large peninsulas; Dún Chaocháin and Dún Chiortáin. It consists of 37 townlands, some of which are so remote that they have no inhabitants. Habitation is concentrated mainly along both sides of Sruwaddacon Bay which flows into Broadhaven Bay, in villages including Glengad, Pollathomas, Rossport, Inver and Carrowteige, and in the Glenamoy area further inland.
Kilcommon parish takes it name from St. Comán who lived around the end of the sixth century AD. The saint is allegedly buried in the old church yard at Pollatomais, near to the entrance where the walls of the old Church can still be seen. In the Ordnance Survey Letters of 1838 (O'Donovan), the writers says "of the old church itself only a part of one gable remains from which little can be learned of its style or age".
Much of the Kilcommon landscape of elevated moorland, borders the Atlantic coast. It is a wild and rugged landscape with large tracts of blanket bog, tiny isolated villages, white sandy beaches and towering cliffs of Benwee Head which, for thousands of years has remained relatively unscathed by overdevelopment by successive generations of Kilcommon inhabitants. Farming is small scale non-intensive. Situated at the mouth of Broadhaven Bay, on its 21st century surface, Kilcommon is characterised by its scenery, huge towering cliffs and rugged sea stacks interspersed with miles of white sandy beaches, tranquil islands and vast tracts of blanket bog with its rare and fragile biodiversity. Unlike the west of Ireland landscape further south in Galway and Clare, there are few huge rocks randomly scattered across this landscape.
Fui un infeliz
al pensar que me quirías
y ahora quisiera
que tu nombre en mi pecho
fuera una calcamonía.
Que pudiera borrar
con el estropajo del día a día
con cada letra de tu nombre
encuentro un sinónimo
de mentira.
El viento no tiene dueño
y su fuerza es su medida
arrancaste mi tejado
cuando pensaba
que ya eras mía
despintando ya de paso
mi veleta, mi peinado
y mi gracia al caminar
una y no más!.
Calcamonía, Calcamonía,
en mi piel no "sos" más que calcamonía
calcamonía, calcamonía
tu amor me vino de regalo en un "Kropán".
Esta vida es tan fría
y tan impersonal
y tu siempre te muestras
tan solícita
ocn las visitas.
Que he dado en desarrollar
un cierto complejo de esquimal
de turista en el polo
en busca de un cariño
caliente como una chasquita.
Hoy hay nieve en el infierno
y además bien baratita
el fuego de mis entrañas
necesita dinamita.
Exploto y me pongo a abrasar
a qualquier hijo de vecino
pierdo plata y amigos
y autoestima personal.